Darksong
by MsMarvelDuckie
Summary: A young dark elf, growing up in the violent, decadent, and treacherous world of his people, hears a different call- one of moonlight, music, and a special gift that turns his skill with dance and blades into a thing of terrible beauty that sets him on a path of discovery and love.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Okay, so this is the "main" tale in my drow trilogy series, and though it was heavily influenced by the novels of R.A. Salvatore and Elaine Cunningham, due to the society and race involved, this is very much its own thing, and much darker than those books. I love drow, and this series is my take on a dark elf culture where things have taken a very DIFFERENT turn. Enjoy!

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**_Darksong_**

Prologue- 19,483 A.S.

A young goddess gazed across the cosmos and sighed. So much work to do, so many souls to try to save from her mother's dark influence. She had just sensed the creation of a new soul- one which could someday hold the key to salvation for an entire race, if only she could whisper the proper tune into it. She reached out across the multiverse to a tiny, unnoticed world, and plucked gently at the silver threads of the new soul's life-essence, until they vibrated with a sweet resonance. She smiled, and hummed a soft melody to it as it slept, waiting to be born. Beside it she felt another new-formed spirit, but this one had the unmistakable scent of her mother. So it was to be war in the womb, then. She sighed again, knowing that only one of the unborn would survive, for she could not undo the wicked influence of her mother's touch.

She continued to hum softly, and just because the mood struck, she began to dance, her consciousness reaching out to enfold the innocent babe in her warmth and love. On impulse, she drew it into the dance as well, just for a few moments, for it could hardly withstand the full power of her presence for long. But in that brief contact, a powerful connection was forged, and a love of song and of the dance. This one would be hers, she knew.

A smile spread over her lips, for the irony was that the soul was male, the antithesis of all that her mother respected and held worthwhile. Even more amusing- he would be the heir of his House, the most powerful house of his kind anywhere on this small world. He would grow strong and clever, with a skill in music and swordsmanship. This would be her gift. This would be her legacy to his people, if he learned how to use it.

Warmth and darkness. Inside the cocoon of fluid comfort, two tiny, ebon-skinned infants slept, in the only place of nurturing they would ever know. Yet even here, there was no safe haven from the harsh reality of survival, for they competed for space within their mother's womb, and for the very blood that gave them life.

One of the twins, a girl, opened her ruby-red eyes and hiccupped; she kicked at her brother, searching for more room. The second infant woke and turned over, his large blue eyes only half-open. The movement pulled the cord that supplied his needs partially around his neck. Instinctively seeking an advantage, the female grasped his cord in her tiny hand and pulled.

The boy began to struggle frantically, as the cord slowly squeezed his throat. In his desperate thrashing, the male caught hold of his sibling's own cord; his fingers grasped tightly and pulled hard, tearing it loose. Suddenly her own life was gushing out, swiftly putting an end to their internecine battle. The female's hand loosed its grip on her brother's lifeline, as he finally came untangled. At last he made a little yawn, and went back to sleep.

Outside, the mother felt the pangs of their deadly struggle, and placed a slender black hand on her heavy belly. "One of them has died," she whispered to herself, a momentary sense of loss causing her to frown. Then she sighed, and continued with the prayer of blessing for the sacrifice to her dark goddess. It was the way of their race, after all- the strong survived, while the weak were pushed aside to perish.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: So the prologue sets the stage for who he will become, and yes, there is some divine influence, but it's limited to being "touched" before birth as different and special- there are no powers or other "perks" involved. This is not a tale of some deity creating a "Chosen One" in the magical or divine sense- just a boy who has drawn the special interest of a higher power, that he might bring a measure of hope to his people.

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One Child

Ten years later- 19,493 A.S.

Green and red fairie fire lined the pillars and arches of the great chapel, while a small, solitary figure polished a huge obsidian statue in its center. The statue was in the shape of some monstrous female, with the lower body of a spider, a scorpion's arched tail and pincers, and the face of an elven woman with serpentine features and fangs. The small ebon-skinned boy had climbed up onto the statue's back to reach higher up; he was wiping dust from its face when he heard footsteps echoing through the huge round chamber. He looked up from his perch, to see an elegant dark elven woman standing in the entrance glaring at him with a look of disapproval.

"Lothir Ustdalharuk E'Terrin'dar, what are you doing up there?! You are _supposed_ to be _cleaning_ that statue, not getting your hand and boot-prints all over it!"

The young child climbed back down, chastised and contrite. She strode over to him, and cuffed him across one pointed ear.

"I couldn't reach!" He complained, rubbing his ear.

"_That_ is no excuse. You must show respect and reverence to the Goddess in _all_ things! You are noble-born, with the power to levitate. _Use_ it, _boy_!" She raised her hand to strike him again, and the boy flinched from the expected punishment.

"Ardra, _enough_. This ridiculous servitude ends _now_. He is the Prince of the First House, not some lowly slave." A tall, imposing drow male strode in with a look of cold fury. He had piercing, ice blue eyes- a color rarely seen in drow- and a grim visage, his silvery-white hair cropped close on the sides and top, with only a long tail in the back. He was dressed in black leathers, with a red silk sash around his waist and a cutlass and whip at his hips.

The woman whirled on him, her red eyes blazing. "He must learn his place, _Lord_ Aldan, or he is useless! And prince or not, he is still just a male."

The boy looked up from one to the other with a nervous fidgeting of his hands. His innocent blue eyes seemed on the verge of tears, but neither of the two noticed.

"It is _King_ Aldan, Mistress Ardra; furthermore, I am the _ruler_ of this House, so _I _will say how my son is raised!" The drow roared at his Consort, causing a momentary look of fear to flash in her eyes. She gazed down at the floor in deference.

"As you will, then. But do not forget that he is as much my son as yours. He _will_ learn proper respect for the Goddess and our traditions." She gave a formal bow to her mate and House Patron, privately seething that she should have to defer to an upstart male when most noble Houses were still ruled by their Matrons. "Lothir, you are dismissed from your duties. Your _father _seems to think serving the Goddess is unworthy of a male." His mother nodded to him curtly as she left the temple, with a final glare in Aldan's direction.

Aldan glanced at the child casually. The prince was about the size of a human five-year-old, but with the fine features and slight build typical of all elves. His wild mop of snowy hair hung over his face, as the young boy cautiously met his father's stern gaze.

"Come, boy. It is time to begin your training. You must learn certain skills if you are to take your place within this family. Do you understand?"

Lothir looked down at his feet as he followed his sire out of the chapel. "Yes, father," he said contritely. He did not understand why his parents were always angry, but it frightened him.

"Good. Do not disappoint me, or I will give you over to your mother and let her do with you as she likes. Do I make myself clear?"

The little boy nodded silently. They walked down a short corridor to another round room with stairs spiraling up through the ceiling above. He followed the older drow up the stairs, past several floors, to a small room that served as a study and meditation chamber. Inside were two others, a shorter, severe-looking male in scholar's robes, and a woman in a purple corset and a long black skirt, with her white tresses in a high bun. The two were waiting patiently; they snapped to attention as their Patron entered with the boy close behind him.

"These two will be your tutors, Lothir. Belkris will instruct you in numbers, strategy, alchemy, magic, and nature lore, as well as the basics of defense until you are ready for the Academy. Shiallin will teach you history, politics, religion, language, and the cultures of the races we deal with. She will also be teaching you the finer arts of noble life. You will spend six hours with each of them every day- _without_ fail. I will be informed of your progress, so you had better not fail in your studies. Your lessons begin tomorrow. Do _not_ be late! You are all dismissed." He waved the three from the room. The tutors nodded and left, and after a moment's hesitation, the young prince did likewise.

With that, Lothir found himself with nothing to do for several hours- a rare treat for one used to spending most of his time in servitude to the rest of his family. So he wandered to his father's library, a place filled with musty old tomes and scrolls- many of them gathered from far-off lands long before he was born- where he knew he would be left alone. The room was seldom used, for most drow had little time or interest in reading for pleasure.

Inside, he looked around at the shelves, and levitated up to the very top of the nearest one. He looked through the stacks until he found a large volume filled with many detailed illustrations of beasts, monsters, and far-away places. He pulled himself along the shelves, digging out several other books- all similarly illustrated. He had not yet learned to read, but he enjoyed looking at them all the same. He dropped to the floor and carried his treasures to a large round cushion on the floor by a small hearth. He lay down on it with the first book open before him, and began to study the pictures. He studied each one closely, memorizing every detail. Some of them had the names of the creatures below them; he ran his fingers over the symbols of the words, engraving them into his young mind. Lothir had been blessed with a bright, inquisitive mind, and a near-perfect memory.

He could recall even the smallest details of things he had seen or heard. Soon he began to notice that many of the same words that named the creatures in the pictures appeared in the writing as well. He became excited when he realized he could read the words for dragon, dwarf, beholder, and several others. He jumped up and went to a small desk, and pulled out parchment and a quill, and began trying to copy the ones he knew. It did not take long before he discovered that many of them had symbols in common that made the same sounds when he said them aloud to himself.

Little did the young drow realize that he was doing something that even children four years older or more often could not do. In only hours, he had begun teaching himself not only to read, but to write, as well. And not only letters, but entire words and phrases. Once he understood the sounds they went to, he began putting others together on his own- and suddenly he was reading far better than a child his age would normally be able to. If anyone had seen him at that moment, they would have been astonished by how easily he had mastered that most basic skill. But Lothir was bright beyond his years, and more importantly, he truly desired to learn.

He was lost deep in concentration, so he almost did not hear the footsteps approaching the door. He hid the parchment and quill quickly, thinking that he might be punished if his parents found out he was in the room without permission using up precious parchment that was so rare in the dark caverns of his home. Then the door opened, and in came his sister Morganna. She smirked at him, her arms folded.

"There you are, little worm," she said. "Mistress Ardra is looking for you- it is time for dinner. You'd better be glad I found you first, before they learned you've been in here messing with father's books."

"D- Don't tell them! Please, I'll do anything you want!" He pleaded with his older sibling, jumping up to hug the girl.

Morganna made a disgusted face, trying to push her brother away. She hated the young boy, seeing him as a weak, stupid male who had by birth alone taken everything that should have been hers. She was older by more than twelve years, so by right of eldest child should have been the favored heir. Yet Morganna was only half-drow; though she and Lothir shared the same father, her mother was not was not the Lady Consort- not even a drow, in fact.

Aldan E'Terrin'dar had not been born a dark elf. He was one of the Nameless Cursed, those rare elves of light skin who had committed offences so great against their fellows that they were punished by being forced to endure the Dark Banishing. Thus were they transformed into the black-skinned drow, their sins visible for all to see, and their names struck from all records of elven history as though they had never existed.

Once, not long after he had been so Cursed, Aldan had taken revenge against his former kin by slaughtering an entire encampment at the edge of the Silver Kingdom, leaving only one woman alive to be taken as his slave. Her name was Ravyn Bloodbane- and she was Morganna's mother. Thus, Morganna was a bastard child, who by custom could not even take the name of her House.

This suited her father just fine, for young as she was, Morganna had already begun to exhibit a cruel streak to rival that of even the most sadistic of dark elves. She could often be found whipping, burning, or beating slaves- her own mother included- for no particular reason, or catching cave snakes to skin them alive.

She particularly enjoyed playing cruel pranks on the slaves, such as putting deadly scorpions in their beds, or using a grease spell on the stairs to cause one of them to fall. And always, when he tried to punish her, even with whipping, she would merely glare silently, with no sign of contrition or fear. He had long since given up on trying to control her. With a child so vicious and foul-tempered, the self-made king had wisely chosen to look elsewhere for his future successor.

Naturally, he had been doubly pleased when his Consort had given birth to a son. Most drow favored daughters, for only females could join the clergy of Lothrenya that ruled so much of their society. Yet Aldan's founding of a new house and moving it so swiftly through the ranks to the coveted position of First House had begun to change that- at least in some Houses. Several noble families had overthrown their Matrons and allied themselves to him, forming a powerful coalition of disaffected Houses. Establishing a male heir had strengthened the position of the First House among its allies.

Morganna resented that- she spied on her young brother whenever she could, and found him to be too soft for a drow. He was properly respectful of customs and of his elders, to be sure; but when he was away from his parents' eyes, he seemed more like a surface elf in demeanor than any drow.

"I should just tell them you were playing in here. I bet Mistress Ardra would whip you. Maybe she'd even let _me_ do it!" She gloated, knowing her timid brother was afraid of his mother more than anyone else.

"Morg- I- I'll feed and clean up after your riding lizard for a week! I'll even polish your saddle!"

The older girl laughed, tossing aside her long black hair, its three distinctive silver-white streaks gleaming in contrast to the raven tresses she had inherited from her mother. "Alright, toad. But you have to scrub my hunting gear, too!"

He nodded mutely, his blue eyes wide in fear. Lothir was almost as terrified of his cruel sister as he was of his mother. He knew she hated him, but was still too young to understand the reason. He couldn't know that she considered his very existence to be an insult. He rushed to put away the books, and then raced down the stairs to the dining hall.

As expected, his parents were waiting, and did not look happy. His mother yelled, and then sent him to his quarters without dinner. It was only later, when he heard a cautious knock at the door later that night, that anyone came to check on him. He opened it to find the elf slave Ravyn standing there, looking about with frightened eyes to be sure no one saw her. The slave woman held a tray in her hands, with leftovers from the meal.

"Quickly, my prince- they must not see me, or they will punish us both!" She whispered. Lothir did not have to be told who "They" were. She entered, and he closed the door while she set down the tray.

"You must be hungry. I saw how Lady Ardra treated you. It is unthinkable that such as she could have borne you, child." She stroked his soft hair while he eagerly picked up a hunk of rothe meat and a large, spongy mushroom dripping with cave-fisher jelly. He looked up into her violet eyes and smiled.

"Thank you. Why are they always angry at me? Everything I do is wrong. My sister hates me! Am I bad?"

The woman sat on the edge of his small bed; he climbed up beside her, hungrily munching away. Ravyn sighed. "No. You are so different from all the others. I think perhaps your father might have been like you once, before he turned to seeking only power. I cannot bear to see such innocence trapped in this evil place. Would that _you_ had been my child, rather than that wicked little fiend I birthed. She is more drow at heart than you are, little one."

Lothir finished the rothe and mushroom, and took a piece of cheese and a cup of moon drop wine mixed with rothe milk. "Lady Ravyn, you're the only one who's ever nice to me. You're my friend." She leaned over to kiss his forehead.

"Shh, do not speak such things aloud, child. You mustn't call me Lady- not _ever_. I am only a slave here. Our friendship must be a secret, for they would not allow it. Promise me you will never speak of it around others."

He nodded solemnly. "Alright, I promise."

She stayed until he became sleepy, and tucked him into his bed; Ravyn sighed as she left, wondering how long it would be before her cold-hearted master would change the sweet child she knew into a killer like himself. Such a kind and guileless heart could never survive untainted for long, she knew. Sooner or later, the boy's world would make him into one of _them_. Though she was a slave, she could not help but wish to keep such a flame of goodness alive in such a dark and cruel place. She saw in the boy her one solace and hope of freedom; for if he understood love or compassion, he might one day be in a position to free her. If such a day ever came, she knew the gods would bless them both.

Lothir awoke early the next morning, both nervous and excited about his first day of lessons. He dressed quickly, then rushed down to breakfast and ate hurriedly. He remembered his father's words; he knew better than to be late. Then he raced to his father's study, where he was told to go to the large training room in the lowest level of the House.

He ran all the way, and stopped running only when he had entered the room, where Belkris stood near the door waiting for him. The dour older drow scowled as the boy approached and bowed breathlessly; he reached out and rapped Lothir sharply on his head.

"Ow! I'm not _late_!" Lothir protested, rubbing his head.

"No. You are _not_ late. What you _are_, boy, is impertinent! You will enter this room quietly and with dignity befitting your station- _not_ like some wild rothe bull!"

The boy cast his eyes down to the floor. "Yes Master Belkris. I'm sorry."

"Now, _if _you can contain your exuberance, we will begin…." The stern drow waved absently, as though it was no longer of importance.

Thus began Lothir's first day of lessons; he spent hours learning about all of the things that made his people formidable, the knowledge and skills needed to survive and conquer their dangerous world. It was the first of many such days; as his father had promised, he was required to attend every day without question or excuse. At first, he was eager, until he discovered how utterly dull most of his lessons were. Even so, he knew better than to complain or slack off in his studies, no matter how boring. On the few occasions he was caught daydreaming, he was severely reprimanded by his tutors. Lothir learned quickly to fake attention, even when thinking of other things entirely, lest he end up with another lump on the head.

Days stretched into weeks, months, and then into years, with little change in the routine. Only once was there any real interruption- for after four years, King Aldan discovered that Belkris was a spy for a rival House that had been plotting to destroy E'Terrin'dar. Naturally Aldan was not pleased. Belkris was immediately executed, and his head was displayed in a jar the next day while Aldan interviewed the candidates for his replacement.

The replacement- a gloomy sorcerer in his fifth century by the name of Jezdin- was, if anything, more exacting and less tolerant than his predecessor had been. Lothir, ever inquisitive, would often ask questions of his teachers; once he had even dared to ask why dragons, who were so huge and powerful, did not rule the world, or why humans ruled over so many lands, if they were as weak and stupid as everyone claimed. He did not understand why his teachers did not answer his questions, but always responded by beating and berating him for such foolishness.

He could not know that they had no answers. His innocent questioning had brought to light the essential flaws in their way of thinking. For in asking them, he had exposed the intrinsic arrogance of their belief that theirs was the greatest of all races. Yet he noted their unwillingness to answer him, and determined to seek his own answers. Thus, he began sneaking into the library late at night to read those books from such far-away lands as Iolia, Alron, and Deepvale.

Once he had been caught entering the library by Ravyn, who had come down from his father's chambers, bruised and with her long tunic ripped, on her way back to the slave quarters. He paused at the door, still holding it open, frozen in fear at being discovered, and worry at seeing her hurt.

"Little one, what are you doing here? You should be asleep!" She had chided him gently, even as she had ushered him into the room, away from prying eyes.

"I couldn't sleep- please don't tell anyone!" He pleaded. She closed the door and lit a candle, while he pulled a book from under the cushion where he had hidden it the night before.

"Of course, you know I wouldn't. But we mustn't stay here, or we will both be punished." The woman knelt beside her young friend while he sat on the cushion, with another candle beside him, and opened the book.

"Is that why you're hurt? Did you do something wrong? I wanted to read a story before bed- will you read it with me?" He looked up at her with his big blue eyes hopeful. Ravyn sighed, unable to refuse him.

"I was- punished, but not for doing anything wrong, dear. Your father is not a very nice person. He likes to hurt people." She did not know any other way to explain that he might comprehend. How did one tell a child about such things?

"I know," he nodded. "He hurts you a lot, doesn't he?" Lothir reached up to touch her face, frowning at the deep bruises, and the marks of a hand on one shoulder.

She only nodded silently, and closed her eyes to hold back the tears that threatened. The boy was still too young to understand what manner of "punishment" she had been subjected to. How long would he keep that innocence?

"Yes. I'll stay with you for a while, but we must not remain long." She had sighed, and sat with him while he read ancient tales of knights fighting undead dragons, and brave heroes battling evil sorcerers with armies of monsters.

"Are any of these stories true?" he had asker her after a while.

"Oh, yes. The one about Malvordain the Red Terror was from the kingdom of Coldmire, back when it was called Lyseria. And Galdara Berriksdotter really lived- in fact, others have found her sword from time to time."

"Do you think I could find it?" he asked, excited.

Ravyn only laughed. "Perhaps one day, little warrior," she said, hugging him while he looked up with his bright blue eyes shining with a glow of happiness. It was so seldom there that she cherished every moment they shared, for those were her only moments of happiness as well. He smiled, and she shook her head with a sigh. "Come now, we've been here too long already, you scamp."

And so she had taken him back to his room. Nearly every night afterwards, they had met in the library, where she listened to him reading the tales of other places, and shared with him stories of her own home in the Silverwood- like the human hero Lycus Firehawk, who a few years before she was captured had defended and later married the elven queen Zara Elrin.

The boy was fascinated by those tales, and always listened with rapt attention. He was most enchanted by her songs, however. He would often ask her to teach him new ones, and then sing them back to her after hearing them only once. His memory and sense of tone were superb, even for one so young, and Ravyn was pleased by how easily he picked up tunes or poems. Truthfully, she was glad to see such happiness in him.

Time passed; the young prince grew, and before long, he was nearing his twenty-fourth year. He was now at the age where he was no longer simply a child, yet just barely entering adolescence. Dark elves aged much more slowly than humans or halflings, though not quite as slowly as other elves. Already he had begun the combat training that was taught every drow. In a society rife with treachery and murder, being able to fight one's enemies was essential to survival.

Lothir had taken most easily to fighting with blades. He had even managed to impress his instructor- a grim drow with a scarred face named Nalvir (for Jezdin, being a sorcerer, had little skill with weapons, and so Aldan had needed another tutor to teach his son the arts of battle)- when he discovered he could fight with two blades better than most could with just one. Soon he was spending hours learning the basics of combat to prepare for the day he would enter the Academy for his _real _training.

In some ways, however, Lothir was still very much a child. He knew almost nothing of the complicated ways of adults- and of personal relations in particular. Neither of his scheming parents had any interest in teaching him about such things, and would probably have considered his "adult" education to be beneath their notice in any case. Aldan was home too rarely to even pay attention to the fact that the young boy was fast growing into an adolescent- and a very curious one, at that- since he spent much of his time on the sea with his fleet of deadly ships preying upon the villages and merchant ships of Anterris' eastern shores.

His mother, on the other hand, barely ever gave him a glance. She had always considered a male heir to be an embarrassment in a society that favored daughters. No male could enter the Venom Queen's clergy, and with their tight grip on the reins of power throughout most of their island empire, the clergy were the strongest power in Argonia, save perhaps for Aldan's own force of bloodthirsty cutthroats.

Thus, Lothir was left to discover for himself the changes that came with growing up. Some he had accepted without a second thought; as he became taller and stronger, he found he could balance on the ropes of the narrow walkways that connected the stone spires of his home, or climb to ledges high on the stone walls of the great cavern that held Argos Hall. He even found he could swim in the cavern's cove as well as any of his father's most seasoned sailors. Soon he was challenging them to swimming contests on their occasional returns to the cove to rest and supply their ships.

Yet there were some changes that took the boy completely by surprise, simply because no one had ever bothered to explain them. The first happened one day when Jezdin had asked him a question and Lothir tried to answer, only to have his voice come out as a high-pitched squeak after he had barely uttered two words. The old mage turned slowly to glare at him darkly.

"If you are attempting to be amusing, boy, I would suggest you stop." He strode toward the young drow, and gave him a sharp tap on one hand with his rod.

"Ow! I wasn't-" He began, and then suddenly squeaked again. He clamped both hands over his mouth, looking up at his tutor with eyes wide in fear. "I'm sorry!" He blurted- and his voice went through three separate octaves on the word "sorry".

"Enough of this nonsense! I will not tolerate such insolence!" Jezdin snarled, and struck the boy hard across one cheek with his hand, then leaned over him, amber eyes narrowed in cold distain. "Now, answer me, boy, and if you dare mock me again, I will show you why it is unwise to anger a sorcerer!"

Lothir flinched, and tried once more to answer his elder. But halfway through, he made a croaking sound much like the cave toads that were sometimes found by underground pools.

Jezdin suddenly seemed to snap. "I _warned_ you- now you will suffer for your foolish games!" He pulled out a wand from the folds of his robe and pointed it at the young prince.

Lothir saw the long silvery wand aimed at him, and quailed. He let out what might have been a shriek of fear, if any sound had come out, and dived from his desk in a mad rush for the door, while a stream of tiny, fiery red orbs streaked toward the spot where he had been. They struck the desk, and made scorch marks and ignited where they hit. He heard Jezdin shout a few simple arcane words, and the door slammed shut in his face. He tried to scream again, but what came out was a strange broken cry like the high-pitched chatter of a monkey.

"S-stop! P-please, I'm-" and he croaked again- "I can't make it stop! H-help!" He tried to yell out through the strange affliction that seemed to have come over him. He could not seem to put together three words without making a squeak or a croak, or simply losing his voice entirely.

"Master-" he shrieked, "something is wrong"- another croak- "with my voice!" Again he ended in a squeak.

Jezdin paused, finally understanding that the boy was genuinely afflicted. "This is not some silly jest? You had better be telling the truth, or your father will hear of this."

"N-no," the boy began desperately, still unable to control the sounds he made. "I think M-Morganna put a spell on me- like the time she turned my hair purple for a week!" He managed to say through the cracking and sputtering in his throat.

The old mage considered. "Hmm, well, it is possible. We shall see." He grimaced, then uttered a few strange words and waved his hands in the gestures of a simple spell. At last he gazed down at Lothir with a strange yellow light in his eyes.

"I see no aura of magic on you. There is no spell."

"I-if it's n-not (squeak) a s-spell, what is it (croak)?" Lothir asked frantically, afraid of what was happening to him. "Am I i-ill?"

The old sorcerer frowned. "I do not believe so," he said, his gaze resting on the younger drow. "Just how _old_ are you, boy?"

"I (squeak) just t-turned twenty-four, Master," he replied. He still seemed incapable of normal speech, and was forced to take his time even to get out that much.

"I see. Well, then I suppose there is no help for it." Jezdin sighed.

"What is it, Master?" He croaked.

"It is most likely your voice changing. You _are_ beginning to approach adulthood, after all. It will pass in time, though I've never heard of it coming on quite so quickly or strongly as this."

"H- how long?" The boy asked hesitantly.

"Who knows? Weeks; months perhaps. It could take as long as a year or two. In the meantime, to spare you any further humiliation- and my own ears- I think it best if you write out your answers when I ask you a question. Now- let us continue…"

Hearing that imperious tone, Lothir knew his teacher had dismissed the subject, so he sighed and tried to continue his lessons.

True to Jezdin's prediction, within a few weeks the young drow's voice settled into a tone much deeper and stronger than it had been. Unfortunately, by then everyone in the House knew it was cracking, and Morganna naturally made him utterly miserable with her constant snickers and cold smirk whenever he tried to speak. Even Aldan had told him to keep silent several times over the weeks until it had passed.

Only Ravyn appeared sympathetic to his troubles. She would come to visit him in his room late in the evenings if she was not called into her master's chambers, and she would sing old songs from her homeland. She taught him the words to help him learn to control the frequent shifts from squeals to deep cracks that seemed to cause so much frustration to the young prince.

After a time, he began to notice the annoying cracks came less; then one day he was watching his father's flagship- a huge war galleass with black sails and a figurehead of a drider at its prow, called _Executioner_\- leaving the cavern's dock on another raiding trip. He sang an old tune Ravyn had taught him that was meant to ask for fair weather and calm seas. He smiled to himself when he realized he had made it through the entire song without a single squeak or crack. He had developed a rich, warm tenor, that rang out pure and true when he sang. Elated, he laughed, and dove into the water, swimming after the ship until it had entered the tunnel that led out into the open sea.

Lothir had never been allowed to leave the cavern of Argos Hall. He wondered what it was like beyond that tunnel, where the great burning ball of the sun was said to sear the eyes of his people. For that reason, Aldan's ships always carried a priestess of Lothrenya to cloak them in darkness, both to shield their sensitive eyes, and to protect their weapons from the ravages of sunlight that made them degrade and turn to dust if left in it for too long.

He wanted to go with them, to see that wide expanse of sea and sky that Ravyn had spoken of in her stories. However, it was not permitted. His parents had made clear that he was _never_ to go beyond the bounds of their House unescorted, and so far, no one had ever consented to take him into the deeper tunnels or caverns, or on the ships to the surface world. The confines of that one cavern made up the whole of his world, and it seemed smaller every day.

Already he had explored all of its secrets. He knew every rock and crevice, from the deep crevice of the refuse pits that ran into a long crack in the eastern wall, to the grove of giant mushrooms and glowing fungi that carpeted the southern end. There was even a small rothe herd that had been fenced into that area, complete with a small stream that fed into the cove. This made Argos Hall one of the most self-sufficient Houses in Argonia. With its own water and food supplies, and only two entry points, the cavern made for one of the most defensible strongholds of any House. Not even in Terrillis was there another noble House as well guarded or safe. In addition, in spite of the size of its resident family, Argos Hall was easily the biggest noble House anywhere in Argonia.

None of these things mattered to the young prince, however. He had long since discovered the secret entrance to his father's personal vaults, where he kept the most valuable treasures from his many raids. Once he had learned how to get past the traps and hidden doors, Lothir had made a game of seeing what he could find among its many glittering treasures. He had even managed to sneak a few of them out, to hide in a small box beneath a stone in the farthest corner of the mushroom grove. Somehow, keeping this secret from his family made him feel less powerless.


	3. Chapter 3: Wicked Game

A/N: Okay, it's been a while since I updated this, but I haven't had any response yet, so it hasn't really been a priority. I'm hoping someone will read and review this, because I've spent a LOT of time and effort on this story. You might even say it's one of my babies!

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Wicked Game

19,517 A.S.

Life continued for the young drow as it had before, save that his lessons became more difficult as time went by. He spent long hours bent over musty tomes of mathematics, alchemy, and history. He read about the terrible wars with the cruel races of their surface cousins in which his people had been changed and driven from their ancestral homes to huddle in dark caves. He learned of how Lothrenya and other gods had whispered to them of how to survive and flourish deep beneath the earth, until they had felt strong enough to take back their lands- only to be nearly exterminated by the light-dwellers and their evil dwarven and human allies. They were finally driven to cross the sea in search of a safe haven.

He knew the truth of it, of course. He had read enough of the books from Silverwood, Tanglewood, and even far-off Kitaka in his father's private library to understand that it was the "_Dhaeraow_" themselves who had begun those ancient wars. Ages past, they had belonged to those same races- the _Cala_, _Mith_, and _Taur Quessiri_. However, they had turned on their brethren out of greed, jealousy, and spite. Entire clans had been torn asunder, and others had simply been slaughtered in the brutal wars that followed the initial acts of treachery.

Though neither side remembered what had started it, the conflict had spread from one kingdom to all the rest, and had resulted in forests being razed, entire cities lost, and untold destruction. It was only after the clans responsible had been denounced and the First Banishing had been cast over them that the new race of _Mori Quessiri _had been born.

Lothir sometimes wondered why Aldan, himself a recipient of the Banishing Curse, chose to live in a world that was so completely based on lies and perversions of history. It never occurred to him that Aldan had made it his goal to forge the quarrelsome drow into a force that he might lead to return to the lands of light and destroy those who had judged him.

The former _Mith Quessir_ had once been a son of a well-respected ancient line. When a younger brother was chosen as his family's Speaker over himself, Aldan had been consumed by a fury that led him to commit a series of murders and pacts with dark powers. Once discovered, this had led to the disgrace of his clan and his own transformation.

Where many others so Cursed fled in shame and died as ostracized, hated outsiders in hostile lands, or were killed for attempting to return, Aldan had grown stronger, sailed to Argonia on a stolen ship with a crew of murderous human and half-orc pirates, and quickly allied himself with one of the most powerful of noble drow Houses. From there it had taken only a few short decades to build his own base of power, hiring Houseless mercenaries and dissatisfied sons of other Houses into his growing force of thieves and warriors.

Lothir knew very little of the truth of his father, of course. Aldan never spoke of his former life or clan, and had altered his family name to reflect his defection. Even if Lothir had ever dared to ask about that past, he knew his cold and distant sire would never give him he answers he sought. Thus, he continued to delve deeper into the old stories and legends, searching for the truth, but finding only more questions. His questing mind was growing, leading him ever further in his desire for truth. Moreover, little by little, a change was coming over him, almost unnoticed, but impossible to deny.

As days turned into weeks, the boy found himself haunted by a peculiar restlessness. He had a feeling, at the edge of his consciousness, which he could not quite name. More and more, he began to notice things that he never had before. He felt a vague stirring of- something.

He began to find himself gazing at Mistress Shiallin- at the way her hips moved when she walked, or the way her chest- that he sometimes thought would spill out of her corset at any moment- would rise and fall with each breath the haughty woman took. He sometimes felt uncomfortably warm when she leaned over him to check his progress on some subject or other. He tried his hardest not to stare, but he was becoming more and more distracted as time went by, without quite knowing why.

And then there was Ravyn. He had always felt a closeness to her that he never felt with anyone else- even his own mother. He had always found comfort in her gentle, warm embrace. Yet now he sometimes felt a sort of urgent longing to see her when he was supposed to be concentrating. And now, whenever she held him, he would press close, his arms around her waist, his head resting on her bosom, filled with a need to be as close as he could. Her touch, once soothing, now left him feeling vaguely empty whenever she left him. At night he would wake up burning, reaching out for something he could not name.

Then came a morning that changed his entire world. He awoke from a night of restless sleep and fitful dreams, that were both disturbing and oddly tantalizing to his young mind. He had dreamed that he was fencing in the training room with Nalvir, except that they were both naked, with Shiallin watching from a cushioned bench against the wall, also unclothed, waiting to reward the victor with spiced wine and sweetmeats, and to punish the loser with her scourge.

In his dream he had defeated his Master, only to have Mistress Shiallin suddenly shoving him down onto the mat on the floor, sitting atop him in a way that excited and frightened him at once. She had bent low over him until her breath tickled his neck, and then….

It was then that he woke up. His skin was hot, and covered in a sheen of sweat that drenched the thin cover of his narrow bed. He felt as though he had indeed spent several hours practicing in the training room; he was no more rested than he had been before going to sleep.

Even more disconcerting was the throbbing ache in his loins. When he sat up and tossed aside the covers, he found to his dismay that a peculiar change had taken place during the night. A bulge beneath his thin sleeping gown poked up, and he tugged it off quickly to see what was causing it. What he found was confusing and a little worrying, to say the least. It stood straight up, twice as long and wide as it had been before, and stiff as one of Nalvir's practice sticks.

Stranger still was the peculiar sensation that went with it. His face went ashen, fearing some new spell from Morganna, or a terrible illness, or even some sort of poison. Had he spent any amount of time around the rough warriors and sailors who crewed Aldan's fleet, he might have realized it was nothing more than a natural reaction to the provocative dream. As it was, his first thought was that it looked as though ready to burst like a boil. Worse still, the overwhelming sensations would not seem to go away, any more than the disturbing condition that was causing them.

He did not know what to do; he was worried, yet too embarrassed to tell anyone of his problem. He sat for a few minutes, simply staring down, completely unnerved by the sudden change, the sense of discomfort making him more and more upset. He was not sure which frightened him more- the condition itself, or the thought that he might have to reveal it to someone to seek relief. He did not dare let Morganna find out- no doubt she would find some way to ridicule him for it. Not knowing what else to do, Lothir decided to hide it as best he could, and hope it would go away on its own. Besides, he could not wait for long, lest he arrive late for his lessons.

At last he sighed in frustration and annoyance, and dressed quickly in his loosest pair of breeches and tunic, with a heavy doublet belted over it, hoping no one would notice the odd bulge beneath. He did not even bother taking the stairs, but simply stepped off the balcony of his room, and levitated all the way down to the dining hall. He did not want to chance anyone noticing his unfortunate condition. He certainly had no wish to run into one of his parents on the way down, and Morganna least of all.

Lothir cautiously snuck into the hall. Fortunately, only a few of the House slaves were about, busily setting out food for the morning meal. He slipped a few pieces of rothe meat, sliced lizard eggs, and cheese into a hunk of mushroom bread, gulped down a cup of sweetened milk, and a few boiled scallops freshly dug from the cove, which had always been a favorite delicacy. None of the slaves noticed him. Indeed, it was forbidden for a slave to look directly at a master unless ordered, and so they all purposely turned their gazes away when he approached. He was glad he was alone for a change- usually he had to endure his mother's constant harping on his manners or some other imagined infraction, or even the simple fact that he was male.

He ate quickly, then dashed to the training and lesson room to begin his morning studies with Jezdin. It was all the young drow could do to concentrate during those lessons, for he was distracted by the unnerving sensations that had assailed him. Each time he thought it might be subsiding, his mind would be drawn back to the titillating dream, and it would suddenly return in full force, leaving him as uncomfortable as when he'd first discovered it. Worse still, he felt uncomfortably hot, in spite of the fact that the temperature in his home never wavered. If not for the candles in the room that Jezdin kept lit for reading purposes, the old sorcerer's darkvision would surely have revealed him glowing like a torch from the odd fever that had taken him.

He was relieved when it was time for the afternoon meal. He didn't even bother to go into the dining room to eat, but instead rushed from the training room, out of the Hall, and down to the cove as fast as his feet would carry him. He felt he could stand it no more; he threw off his clothes and dove into the cool water, swimming out into the deepest part of the dark sea-cave, letting the water cool his heated skin.

He swam for several minutes, enjoying the feel of the waves caressing his bare skin, even diving down to the bottom to search for sunken items of interest. Occasionally on such dives in the past, he had found beautiful shells, strange bones, polished stones, and even debris from wrecked ships. Once he had found the empty shell of a sea turtle, and another time there had been the peculiar jaw of a saw-fish. He had hidden them in his secret cache in the mushroom grove, and often spent hours using them as a toy shield and sword, pretending to slay monsters.

At last he climbed back out of the surf, tired but relieved. He glanced down, and saw that the strange swelling had receded, at least for the most part. He wondered again what had caused it. Perhaps it really was a spell? He silently cursed his malicious sibling, suspecting she had been behind the annoying dilemma. He pulled his clothes back on, and grudgingly went back to the training room for his afternoon lessons with Shiallin.

He regretted it all too soon. He had only been back at his lessons a short time, when Shiallin leaned close to oversee his work. He glanced up, only to bury his face in her ample bosom. Somehow, her nearness made the ache he felt grow stronger. He jerked away, afraid she would chastise him for his transgression. She scowled, and rapped his hand with her rod.

_"_Pay attention, boy. I said you were doing it all wrong- do you understand _nothing_?!" She growled in annoyance.

"I'm sorry, Mistress. I haven't been feeling well." Lothir said hesitantly. He felt guilty, not knowing quite why it should be so, though he understood that it was forbidden to touch a noble female- especially a priestess- without her permission.

"Are you in need of a healer, then? Why did you not say so? What is wrong?" She asked, at last growing concerned. Shiallin had little patience for teaching a male, but Aldan had made it explicitly clear that she was responsible for the boy's well being while he was in her charge.

He sat in silence, uncertain how to explain. He stared down at the open book before him, and picked up a quill to idly fidget with it. "I don't know," he said quietly, almost whispering. "I just feel- strange."

She frowned, impatient. "That is not an answer. Explain."

He shrugged, and saw that she was bending over to examine him, her red eyes narrowed. She placed a hand over his forehead, and raised one thin white brow.

"You are feverish. Have you any other symptoms?" She asked. He only nodded. "Well," she said impatiently, "what are they?"

"Well, it's- I can't say. It's rather personal." He answered finally. He looked away, flushed with heat. "It's- swollen. And it feels peculiar."

She gazed at the boy thoughtfully for a moment, then made a little smirk. "So," she murmured softly, "the boy becomes a man." She lifted his chin, looking him over carefully. At last she stepped back, and smiled oddly at him. "Come, young one. I think it is time to begin your _real _education."

She strode toward the doors, and he followed, though he did not understand what she had meant. She lead him up the stairs for several floors, then out through a narrow door and across one of the stone bridges that led to the spire that held the slaves' and House retainers' quarters. At last, she entered a room with a solid iron door. He followed always three steps behind, as he had been taught from birth- for Lady Ardra had insisted that he learn the proper place of a male in their mainly matriarchal world, as custom and holy edicts demanded. Aldan might be a de facto king, but even within his own House, his rule was not as absolute as he might wish. Lothrenya's clergy still had too much power to ignore.

He looked around the room curiously, and saw that it was spacious, comfortable, and above all, pleasing to the senses. A musky incense pervaded the air, and candles were scattered about to give a soft light. The large bed was piled with soft pillows and covered by sheets of fine spider-silk in shades of red and black. There was even a small crystal decanter of mushroom wine with a set of goblets on a tray on the table by the bed.

Shiallin moved over to the table and poured out two cups of the wine. She handed him one. "Drink," she said softly. "It will ease your nerves, young one." Her haughty gaze swept over him again, and suddenly the boy felt like a bug under her scrutiny.

He gulped it down quickly, almost choking on the strong, heady stuff, as he was not used to taking it straight. Always before, it had been diluted with water or milk. Now it seemed to go straight to his head, making him feel slightly giddy, for he had not eaten since morning, and had been swimming besides. The incense was having some strange effect as well, leaving him in a warm, half-dazed stupor. He shook his head, trying to clear away the strange bewilderment.

"Undress," she said, and he knew it was a command. He simply stared at her, uncomprehending.

"What?" He asked, puzzled.

"Well, surely you didn't think we would do this with our clothes on?" She answered impatiently.

"D- do what?" He asked, confused.

She stared at him in disbelief, as though wondering how anyone could be so dense. "Are you saying you do not know?!" She responded, scowling.

"Am I supposed to?" He asked simply, shrugging. She merely rolled her eyes in annoyance.

"Goddess forbid I should have to explain! Tell me that you at least know something of anatomy and life cycles." She stood with her hands on her hips, one foot tapping impatiently. He gulped, and nodded slowly.

"Uh, Master Jezdin taught me the names and uses of various organs of magical beasts for spell casting; and, um, I've been learning about vital points from Master Nalvir." He shrugged, and gazed up at her hopefully.

"Oh, by the Goddess! It seems I shall have to have words with Master Jezdin about his lack of attention to his duties. Why can those louts not teach you something _useful_…?" She said, shaking her head with an annoyed grimace. "And what else has that idiot mage taught you? Do you know of reproduction?"

Lothir thought for a moment. "You mean, like how the rothe breed and give birth?"

Shiallin held a hand up to her forehead as if in pain. "_A Lothrenya's laelar daur_! Stupid, useless males… Well, I suppose it is a place to start." She paused in her tirade for a moment, then turned to him again. "Well?" She said impatiently. "Did you not hear me, boy? I told you to disrobe!"

"Y- yes, Mistress," he replied, still uncertain why she wanted him to undress. He wanted to ask what rothe had to do with anything, but was wise enough to remain silent.

Hesitantly, he removed his doublet and tunic, and the soft, low-cut boots he always wore- not that he truly needed them in the Hall, but he wore them for his frequent explorations of the cavern. He had recently discovered a small crack in the south-eastern wall that led into a low, narrow side tunnel. He had even planned to take a lantern and see where it led after his lessons. Now he wondered if he would even get the chance.

He paused, suddenly more nervous than ever. She was watching him with a cool, impassive expression, that only served to increase the boy's uncertainty. He wore only his loose breeches, still belted. Trembling, he stared down at the floor. The young prince had never been naked around another before; now he was afraid to expose himself to her.

"All of it," she said after a moment, seeing his reluctance.

At last he did as asked, and stood before her silently with his head down in indignity, utterly unnerved by the situation. He knew nothing of what she wanted, only that it seemed to involve himself naked, and- rothe? She moved closer, slowly circling him, and he was reminded of the sharks that sometimes found their way into the cove. She had the same predatory, almost hungry look, and he tensed, even flinched away when he felt her lightly run her fingers down his back from behind.

"Well, now. Impressive for one so young. So perfect. How wonderful- I think I will enjoy this…" She purred softly, and came around to face him once more. Then something happened that almost made the boy faint. Shiallin unlaced her corset and tossed it aside, then slipped out of her long skirt and slippers. She raised one hand to her head, then let down her long silvery-white hair so that it fell past her bare shoulders. His breath caught in his throat, as he had a sense of deja' vu. She was just as she had been in his dream.

He felt himself shaking like a leaf in a wind, though whether from fear or some perverse sort of excitement, he could not tell. The incense had dulled his mind, and the strong wine made him feel fluttery inside. And then there was that odd, persistent throb from his nether parts, which seemed to have once again enlarged like a swollen tick. And felt just as ready to pop, as well. That thought, more than any other, terrified him.

At last she stepped close- so close he could feel the brush of her skin against his- and gently took his hands, leading him slowly back toward the bed. Her ruby-red eyes gleamed with a dark hunger, and he wondered what she meant to do. Lothir had seen corpses being taken from the temple after ceremonies on occasion, and they were always torn and bloody, mutilated as if some terrible creature had devoured them. He knew, also, that she often was a part of those dark rites, that no male was ever permitted to watch.

He swallowed. Did she and the other priestesses eat those hapless victims of the sacrifices? Was that what she meant to do to him? But she only pushed him down onto the edge of the bed, then sat close beside him.

"Now, boy, it is time for a new lesson. One that I think you will like." She smiled, and pressed her hand against his chest, pushing him backward until he was lying with only his knees hanging over the side. She moved over him, crouching low on her knees while one hand began to slowly trail downward.

Then her hand closed around him, and the boy let out a gasp of surprise. She stroked lightly with her fingers, even raking with her nails ever so slightly, until he could hardly stand the sweet ache that resulted. Shiallin took hold of his hands, and began to guide them over her bare curves with a satisfied smirk.

He lay as if frozen, utterly at a loss. He gazed up at her questioningly, but the older woman gave no hint of what she expected of him. She bent low, and suddenly he felt her lips where her hand had been, and he whimpered softly, his body shot through with a jolt not unlike the lightning from one Jezdin's wands.

"Shh, do not fight it, boy. Let go and enjoy the moment." She whispered against his stomach. He swallowed, and tried to relax, but every touch was like fire in his veins.

Shiallin placed his hands on her breasts; he was surprised by the way they felt beneath his fingers- soft, but firm and smooth, like ripe fruits. She leaned closer, her bare skin pressed against his, as she smothered his mouth with a deep kiss. Stunned into acquiescence, he froze up, eyes open wide.

After several long, tense moments, she moved lower, leaving a trail of deliciously hot kisses along his neck to one shoulder. He was reeling from the strange new emotions that raged within, his young mind drowning in- what, exactly? It was like nothing he had ever known, and no one had ever told him such things were possible.

"Mistress?" He asked hesitantly, brow furrowed in confusion and a sense of something important happening. "Why do I feel like this? What is it?" His hands fell to the bed, clenching in the smooth silk sheets.

Her only answer was to slide her hand down his belly again, taking hold of him once more. Then, in one swift move, she sat up, and lowered herself down onto his hips, until he cried out from the jolt of feeling something hot and moist closing around his most sensitive parts. Something that was not quite pain rocked through him, and he almost lost all thought, senses overwhelmed by what was taking place. He burned from the inside, but it felt good, so much so that he wondered if this was how it felt to die. If it was, then he wanted more of it...  
Shiallin began to rock back and forth above him, each movement bringing a new rush of- whatever it was, that left him mindless with the aching need for more. With each passing moment, the heat inside grew, until he could no longer stand it, and his breath and heart quickened in the exquisitely sweet fire. His body tingled and writhed, every nerve singing out its electric thrill.

The young drow suddenly felt something explode inside, and let out a moan as all the tension and fire filled him in one white-hot moment of pure bliss, then slowly faded, leaving him breathless and trembling in its wake. He was panting; his pupils were dilated and sweat covered him from head to foot. He felt something warm and wet trickle down between his legs, and watched, fascinated, as his beautiful but distant teacher continued to move above him for several moments before she, too, seemed to convulse in some strange kind of energy, then collapsed atop his chest, her bosom heaving.

"Now," she whispered between breaths, "you are boy no more, but a man. You are now truly a Noble son of your father's House. Does this please you?"

Lothir looked at her in wonder, and nodded slowly. "Yes, very much, Mistress."

She smiled; she rolled to one side, propped up on her elbow, with one leg still stretched across his thighs. She kissed him once more, and this time he closed his eyes and tentatively tried to return it. He wondered why Ravyn had never kissed him that way, but instead only ever kissed his brow or cheek.

"Did you enjoy your lesson, young one? There is still much for you to learn. But I think we can save it for tomorrow. Come, let us get cleaned up, and we will speak more of what will be expected of you." She said, standing up suddenly. He opened his eyes again, and felt a vague disappointment that she did not continue the kiss. She pulled him to his feet, and he stood bewildered and uncertain. He glanced down, to see something white sliding down the inside of his leg. He looked at the bed, and found more of it soaking into the sheets.

"What…?" He asked, looking to Shiallin for an explanation. She simply shook her head, rolling her eyes with an annoyed frown, and let out a deep breath.

"I really _must_ do something about that idiot mage," she muttered, and led the young boy into another room that he had not noticed before, half-hidden behind a curtain. Beyond it was a large bathing room, with a table holding several grooming implements and a small, cushioned chair along one wall, a shelf for various cloths, soaps, and perfumes, and a full-length mirror that covered nearly half of another wall. In the center of the room was a huge bathing pool sunk into the floor, which was filled with water that swirled and bubbled. Steam came off the surface, as the pool was heated by some unseen source.

She led him into the pool, and it was pleasantly hot, the water lapping gently against his skin. The young drow stared at her questioningly, still wondering what would come next. "Mistress? What was that?" He asked hesitantly.

"Your seed, silly male. Did he teach you nothing of these things?" She laughed, and he frowned slightly, trying to understand what she meant. Slowly, he shook his head, a look of stunned surprise on his face. After a moment, the meaning dawned on him, and he suddenly understood so much more than a moment before. The revelation was almost more than he could take, but he hesitantly asked the one question that was burning itself into his mind.

"No, he must not have covered that yet. Seed- does that mean we just- are you going to have a.…" He stopped, unable to complete the thought. Was that how it worked?

Shiallin laughed again. "No, of course not! For one thing, little man, I think you might be a bit young yet for that part of it. Besides, it is not the proper time for me, and if it was, there are ways to prevent such things. Now, hurry and wash up. You still have lessons to go back to, and there are things you must know about your new status."

He stared at her, uncomprehending. "What do you mean?" He still did not entirely understand everything she had said; it was all a little overwhelming, to say the least. So much had happened already, and it seemed there were still many things that he did not yet know.

"You will be leaving for _Telamurin D' Thalack_ in a few months. Terrillis is a large city, and there will be much that is unfamiliar to you. But you must understand that when you leave this House, you will not have the privilege and protection you are used to. In Terrillis, you are subject to the traditions and laws of the Matrons, just as every other male is. Any Matron or priestess who desires it may seek your services in whatever manner she wishes- and you are bound to comply. There can be no refusal. To deny a noble woman's favors is punishable by death, or by any other means she deems fit- even the _cha'kohk d' lu' dridera _(curse of the drider). You would be wise to remember that."

"You mean- if one wants to- then I have to…. Even if I don't want to?" Suddenly, Lothir was beginning to have second thoughts about these new lessons. Somehow, going to the Academy did not seem to be something to look forward to. He was no longer even certain he wanted to grow up. The thought of being away from home had been frightening enough, but to be told that he would have to do what any noble lady wanted seemed wrong. Yet one look at Shiallin's indifferent expression was enough for the boy to realize how serious she was. He knew better than to question any command she gave. Not only would it invite her wrath, but that of both his parents, as well. That was something he had learned to avoid.

"Did you believe it to be otherwise? How foolish. You are only a male, after all. Even your father's rule is not absolute. But he was never fool enough to deny the ways of our kind. No, he is wise in allowing the old ways to continue unchanged, even if he seeks to rule over all. Ambitious as he is, he knows the Matrons would not stand for the abolishment of their edicts."

Without another word, she set about scrubbing herself, ignoring him. He watched for a while, his natural curiosity overcoming timidness for the moment. It had felt good to let her touch him, and he wondered if being ordered to perform such deeds could truly be so bad. He had to admit it had been frightening at first, but the sensations were- intriguing, to say the least. His thoughts turned back to his father, and what she had said about him. Did that mean that even he was subject to the will of the Matrons?

The boy thought about that for a long moment, while he sat in the bubbling water in silence. After a time, he picked up a sponge and some soap crystals from a small silver container beside the pool, and began to wash himself as she had ordered. When he finished, he stood up, and found a cloth to dry with. His feet padded softly over the thick rug of some strange creature's striped fur, as he retrieved his clothes and dressed. Shiallin had left the bath by then, and stood watching him.

"Tomorrow, you will come here after your morning studies," she said. He looked up, and saw that she was wearing a long robe open in the front, and nothing else. The sight of her curves sent an odd jolt through him, but he knew what it was now, and simply nodded. She didn't expect an answer, only compliance. That was something he had learned long ago.

The rest of the afternoon was uneventful. After he had gone back to his normal lessons- during which his thoughts kept turning to the strange turn her teaching had taken, and what other new things might be in store- it was time to practice weapon drills with Master Nalvir. The activity and all the excitement and exertions of the day soon wore him out, so Nalvir instructed him to continue until he dropped, as he felt the boy was too lax in his practice, and needed toughening. After so much hard physical exercise, combined with the swimming and Shiallin's own form of physical education, he was too exhausted at the end of the day to make the excursion into the tunnels as planned. It was with a heavy sigh and much relief that he finally crawled into his own bed that night, too tired even to think about what the next day might bring.

He woke early the next morning, with a strange feeling of anticipation, wondering what she might have planned. He felt content and excited to begin his daily schooling, though he wasn't quite certain why. He rushed through breakfast, pausing to give Ravyn a cheery greeting when he saw that she was among the slaves tending to the morning meal. She only nodded her response to him, with a quick look that reminded him their friendship was supposed to remain secret.

He made his way to the training room to begin the day, but Jezdin was nowhere to be found. He waited patiently for a time, flipping idly through a book of alchemic formulas, until it became clear that the irritable old mage was late. The boy began to pace the room, wondering if he should go look for his missing tutor. He even pulled one of the wooden practice swords from a rack, going through a few basic moves, simply to pass the time until the sorcerer should appear. When he heard the temple bell toll the hour for mid-day, he knew something was wrong.

He left the room, and wandered the corridors of his home, seeking some reason for his master's absence. At last, he approached his father's study, only to hear voices up ahead on the stairs. He paused to listen, for he recognized his mother's harsh tone, in deep discussion with both Shiallin and his father's deep, commanding voice, with its oddly accented speech- the remains of the old elven language he had once spoken as his native tongue.

"I tell you, Aldan- he is _not_ ready! He barely even knows the difference between a kuo-toa and a sahuagin!" His mother's cold contempt was clear, that much was certain.

"Well, so long as he knows how to _kill _one or the other, it hardly matters, now does it?" Came the Patron's acid reply. Lothir heard his teacher's amused chuckle, and realized they were talking about him.

"Perhaps, but with such stupidity, how long do you think the little idiot will survive in the city? I blame you, _my Lord_, since it is _your_ seed that spawned such a pathetic excuse for an heir. He's no better than that half-breed witch you whelped on that insipid little whore of yours!"

"I would watch your tongue, if I were you, _My Lady_. You _can _be replaced as my Consort." snarled the Patron. Lothir cautiously peeked around the corner of a doorway where he hid, to see his father's eyes blazing with blue fury at the insolent Lady of the House. Shiallin stood by, watching with a slight smirk as Ardra was berated by her infuriated mate. It was no secret that she felt Ardra was unsuited to rule as his Consort, and had even tried to convince him that she would make a better match than her elder half-cousin. Her lesser station among the house priestesses not withstanding, Shiallin was far less heavy-handed with the rest of the retainers and servants, a fact which had not gone unnoticed by the Lord.

"_Replaced_?! You pompous upstart, whom do you think you are dealing with?! If it were not for _my_ House's rank and power, you never would have risen to your current position! I should call down the wrath of the Goddess on you for such temerity!"

"Go ahead and try, my dear. You know very well that I have the protection of one who is just as powerful as she- and not half so _mad_!" He roared, and suddenly struck out at her with his open hand. The blow landed on her jaw, and knocked her into the wall. She stumbled, but merely stared up at him with a look of hatred and fury. After a moment, she straightened, then stalked off without another word. Lothir flattened himself against the wall as she went by, praying she would not glance his direction. But his mother seemed oblivious, and kept going.

"I trust you have dealt with that imbecile Jezdin?" Aldan said casually after his Consort had left.

"Of course, My Lord Patron. It will be a long time before he forgets his duties again." She gave a slight bow, and he nodded his approval.

"Good. Make sure the boy is ready for _Telamurin D' Thalack_ by the time I return from Deimos. Six months, Shiallin- you have six months to ensure the boy is prepared for the Academy. Do not disappoint me."

"Yes, as you wish, my Lord. I am ever at your service- in _all_ ways." The young drow watched as she ran her fingers lightly down his sire's neck with a seductive smile, and Aldan returned her gaze with narrowed eyes, a half-smirk on his face.

"Naturally," was all he said before he turned and went into his study. The sultry priestess turned and went down the stairs, passing Lothir as he ducked into one of the guard rooms below. He watched her go by; his thoughts were racing to try to make sense of what he had seen and heard. Was his tutor making a play to take his mother's place as the Lady Consort? It appeared so.

Several minutes passed before he left the room. By that time, his stomach was reminding him quite audibly that he was hungry. He ran to the dining hall, where he saw that Ravyn was once again on serving duty. He nodded to her, careful not to let his mother see, for she had entered to take her afternoon meal. He ate in silence, staying as far from his eternally angry mother as possible to avoid arousing her ire. When he finished, he began to make his way to the servants' spire, where Shiallin waited. But he had hardly reached the bridge that spanned the way across, when Morganna stepped in his way, looking down at him with a sneer.

"Well, if it isn't the worm? Learn anything interesting lately, little _we'ha_ (d*ck)? Ready for another private tutorial, perhaps?"

He stared at her, jaw gaping. How had she known about…? "And just what do _you_ care about it?" He asked cautiously. She merely grinned wickedly.

"I don't. I just thought it was amusing. Looks like Master Jezdin isn't the only one who likes such games. Too bad he's getting disciplined, or I bet he would teach _you_ a thing or two!"

"What- what do you mean?" He asked uncertainly. Morganna never missed a chance to annoy or degrade him, and this time was no different. She had become expert at finding just the right verbal jabs to torment him- and everyone else around her, for that matter.

"Oh, haven't you heard? He's being punished for neglecting his duties. Too much time summoning his little playmates, I suppose- that dirty old _sakphul-vith'rell _(literally, "halfling-f$&amp;#er"). So Shiallin decided to teach _him_ a lesson, by summoning an incubus to play with _him_!"

Lothir's eyes bulged at the news. He had often seen the old sorcerer call forth succubi and erinyes to do his bidding, but it was not until the day before that he had actually understood what that entailed. Now he found himself blushing at the thought of such lower planar beings being bound by his teacher to do- that.

"What do you know about that?" He asked pointedly, finally finding his voice again. Morganna only gave him a dark laugh.

"Oh, you'd be surprised what you can learn when no one knows you're there. Like what he keeps in those spell books of his. You should read them sometime, little brother- you might actually learn something useful!" She snorted, and turned away, leaving him to wonder what she meant.

He stared after her until she had left, then continued on his way, across the bridge that spanned the empty space between the huge stone towers. Argos Hall had five such towers. The two largest held the family living quarters and recreational spaces, as well as the temple, training room and armory, several storerooms, and the throne room and main entrance hall. The third largest housed the main barracks and various workrooms for the smiths, masons, craftsmen, and other skilled artisans of the House.

The two smallest spires were those of the servants and common soldiers, along with the mages' labs, and the private quarters of the House retainers. A small stronghold guarded the only tunnel entrance to the great cavern, with its own armory, training area, and barracks, while a second small fort was situated on a small rocky island at the entrance to the sea-tunnel that led out of the cove into the open ocean. Together, the towers and guard outposts held nearly six hundred dark elves and almost as many members of several other races- most of them slaves. The rest were craftsmen, low-born warriors, battle-mages, and the two score priestesses of the temple, along with the crews of Aldan's two main ships, the _Executioner_ and its sister ship, the _Iceheart_.

Soon he had reached her door, but did not know whether he should knock or simply enter. After a moment's hesitation, he shrugged, and knocked on the heavy metal door. It opened after only a few seconds, to reveal Shiallin in nothing but a simple robe. A lump rose in his throat as she waved him in; he entered cautiously, wondering what sort of lessons she had in mind. If it was anything like the previous day, he suspected he was in for a very eye-opening experience. She closed the door behind him, and told him to undress once again. For the next two hours, neither of them spoke….

Five days passed, in which Jezdin did not show up for the young prince's morning studies. Instead, Shiallin took over teaching entirely, saying only that the missing tutor was recovering from an injury. Lothir didn't care to speculate what that might mean; the possibilities were both too numerous, and too disturbing. He found that he actually enjoyed her manner of teaching more than the old mage, for she was not as quick to strike him for making mistakes as Jezdin had been, and was more patient with his questions, besides.

Meanwhile, his other lessons were quickly becoming more stimulating by the day. By the fifth day, he had begun to think that the surly old sorcerer was gone for good, and he was glad to be rid of his heavy-handed tutor. He even risked going to Jezdin's private lab and study to peruse his spell books as Morganna had suggested- something he never would have done had the short-tempered _Qu'el'faeruk_ (House Wizard) been about.

What he found both surprised and intrigued him, and he spent several hours each day studying the new spells he found. Some of them seemed made for pulling pranks on his mean-spirited half-sister. He had always wanted to find some way to get back at her for all the wicked tricks she had played on him, like turning his hair purple or making his seat at the table slick so that he slipped off and fell.

Others were obviously meant for use against enemies, such as the ones that created bolts of lightning or fireballs, or which blinded and even blasted the minds of foes. And then, there was one book which seemed to contain only spells intended for the mage's more personal pursuits- spells that bound, chained, or enthralled a being, or which rendered the subject enamored of the caster, or were somehow otherwise connected to the arts of pleasure and pain. The book referred to such spells as blue magic, but after only a few minutes of reading, he began to think that _vith_ magic might have been a more appropriate term. Some were intriguing- especially in light of the things Shiallin had begun to teach him- while others were simply disturbing or even frightening in their applications.

The spells that interested him the most were the ones that created or altered sounds or voices. The young drow was fascinated by the thought of being able to mimic another's voice, or to have his own voice spouting from a statue or some other place. There were words of power, of course, but he found he had no taste for them, since most of them were intended to harm, and were difficult to pronounce correctly in any case.

The day after he had spoken to Morganna, he took his turtle shell shield and a kukri from the soldiers' armory- after practicing his magic by unlocking the door, of course- and snuck off to the mushroom grove to slip through the fissure into the hidden tunnels beyond. He had never been beyond the walls of Argos Hall's cavern, so the young dark elf was both excited and a little afraid of what he might find. He knew well enough that those who wandered alone in the deeper passages often did not return, so he was cautious in his exploration.

Lothir had taken with him only one other item on his excursion, a beautiful silver flute that he had found among the glittering treasures of the family vault during one of his secret forays into the depths of the Hall's lowest levels, where the torture chambers, vaults, and prisons were. He had discovered a hidden entrance into the treasure room, and had found all sorts of strange and fascinating objects there. He knew the flute contained magic, but had no idea what kind, so he wanted to study it far from prying eyes- and ears. So as he shimmied his way through the tiny, narrow crevice that led from the mushroom grove into a long tunnel beyond, he kept the flute tucked into his belt, anxious to try it and see what it might do.

After what seemed a long time the small tunnel finally opened out into a larger passage that ran for over a thousand yards, twisting and turning, with a low ceiling. He cautiously crept along, knowing that the tunnels he was exploring were likely unknown to any but himself. If something happened out here, his family would never know of it. And most likely wouldn't waste much time or effort searching, either, he thought bitterly. It was becoming more and more plain that they cared little for him, save only for what he could contribute to the power and future of the House itself.

Some time later, he came to a small cavern, with many thin and jagged stalagmites and stalactites, a high roof, and a small pool fed from water dripping down through the rocks above. He gazed around, his normally blue eyes glowing slightly with a faint red light as he used his dark-vision to see. He had long since passed the point of seeing normally in these black depths, for no light penetrated so far from his home. All he could see was dark, cool stone, and the even cooler spot where the pool was. Even his dark-vision was nearly useless in such a place, for there was little heat for his eyes to find.

Then his keen ears detected a noise from above. A faint clicking sound, so soft that he was barely sure he heard it at all. He looked up, and his heat-seeking eyes found a terrifying sight. A huge, chaotic, tent-like web stretched across nearly half the ceiling. He saw movement within, and then an enormous spider with a body nearly six feet long skittered out of the web. He stepped back closer to the nearest wall, slowly pulling his borrowed kukri from his belt. The spider's back was slightly humped, and its long, spindly legs were covered in short, course hairs. But its most disturbing trait was the pair of humanoid arms just below the mandibles that were making the clicking sound he had heard.

The monstrous creature leaped down to the ground, landing between Lothir and the passage he had just left. He backed away, holding his knife and turtle-shield in front of him. The spider chattered for a moment, its six eyes fixed on him. It scuttled toward him, and he backed away further, putting one of the slender stalagmites between him and it. It paused, the "arms" in front waving in a gesture to come closer.

Then something truly strange happened. The huge arachnid reared up on its hind two pairs of legs, and as it did, it began to change. The body became smaller and slimmer, as the two hind leg pairs shortened and thickened, until they fused into one pair of rather shapely humanoid legs, while the two front pairs disappeared altogether, leaving only the clawed arms. Even its head changed, becoming that of an attractive female, with drow-like ears and features, and the normal number of eyes. At last he found himself staring at a naked- and very comely- woman, who tossed a satisfied smirk his way, chuckling softly.

"Well," she said, using the Undercommon speech that was a mix of the languages of drow, deep dwarf, and the grey-skinned Underdark gnomes called the svirfneblin. "What have we here? A lonely little dark elf come to visit? How marvelous! It's been ages since I had a real visitor!" She smiled, and stepped closer. Lothir gaped, and stood holding his kukri in a hand suddenly gone limp.

"Hmm, such a tempting little morsel you are, too. What's wrong, little drow? Can't speak? Let's get a better look at you, my little sweetmeat." Then she spoke a few arcane words, and suddenly a half-dozen floating spheres of light filled the air around her.

Lothir was dazzled by the sudden light in his eyes, though none was brighter than a candle by itself. He squinted in the pale white glow, as she slowly approached. When his eyes had adjusted, she was standing before him, close enough to reach out and touch him. She let the little dancing lights- for he recognized the spell as one that nearly every dark elf knew- float about the chamber, and he could now see that the web was festooned with many corpses, the cocooned remains of her past meals. He recognized large cave rats, the huge Underdark bats known as deepbats, and a four-foot, brownish insect-like creature with a tail like a lobster and long feelers on its head, with a dozen legs beneath its pill-bug shaped body. He belatedly realized it was a rust monster, a creature that ate only metal.

There were even the bodies of two goblins, and he suddenly realized that the tunnels he had found must have some connection to the main tunnel from his home, for the remnants of their garb bore the marks of his House. Down below the web, in a corner of the cavern, lay a pile of old bones and bits of debris, all still covered in shreds of webbing.

He glanced back to the strange shape-shifting woman, and gulped. "Who- what are you?" He asked in a small, frightened voice.

"Ah, so it speaks! I am Shelatchka, little drow. Have you never heard of the aranea? That is what I am. Children of the Spider. Of course, some might call chitines that, but only we can take the form of her true children. And who might you be, hmm? It's dangerous for little boys to wander alone in the Underdark, silly child."

He frowned, tightening his grip on the knife, and straightened to his full height of nearly four feet, chin held high. "I'm not a boy," he said petulantly. "Not anymore. My mistress even said so. Besides, I know how to fight."

"Oh, did she, now?" The woman laughed. "Well, then, my delicious little man, who might you be? Such a brave young warrior, to be out here all alone. Are you not afraid?" She smiled indulgently, leaning quite close, so that her bosom brushed against him, and her hand closed over his and pushed his blade aside.

He could not take his eyes off the strange female, especially when she stood so close, with her shiny black skin and long jet hair gleaming in the soft glow. Her stomach was marked by a large red spot vaguely shaped like an hourglass. He was a little fearful of that, for he had seen such marks on certain venomous spiders in his home. He hated the crawly things, but was forbidden to kill them because they were considered sacred to the Goddess.

"N- no, I'm not a- afraid... I'm L- Lothir E- E'Terrin'dar." He sputtered, and began to edge away from her, his knees shaking beneath him in spite of his false bravado. "_Ustdalharn_ of the F- First House, heir to the King of Argonia. You'd better let me go- if anything happens to me, they'll come looking," he said, though even as he spoke the words, he wondered if it was really true. Somehow, he doubted it. His own family barely ever even noticed his presence unless it was to yell at him or give him orders, so he wondered if they would ever even bother to search for him if he went missing. They would probably just make a half-hearted search, and then assume he'd drowned in the cove, or something. Then his bones would end up moldering in Shelatchka's web for some other hapless soul to find, before they joined him in turn.

The aranea seemed to see right through his bluff, for she simply tossed her head back and laughed. "I somehow doubt that, little prince. You aren't supposed to _be_ here, are you? They don't even know you are gone, I'd wager. Oh, but you are an amusing one. Perhaps I'll play with you a bit, before…"

He swallowed, and suddenly made a dash for the other tunnel. Quick as lightning, she leaped in front of him. "Ah, come now! Where do you think you're going, hmm? You wouldn't be so rude as to leave so soon, would you?"

He skidded to a stop, and began to back away again. Suddenly, the aranea began to shift again, this time into a strange, hybrid form. The long, hairy appendages sprouted from her sides, and her legs changed back into those of a spider, splitting into four. Her body grew, becoming longer, bloated and round toward the bottom. Four eyes appeared on her suddenly over-sized head, and she sprouted long, sharp fangs like those of her spider-form. The young drow froze, horrified; he suddenly lost all semblance of courage, and shrieked.

"Now, really, is that any way for a guest to act toward one's hostess? Shameful. Stay awhile, and perhaps we can have some fun, little one!" She laughed again, and then the shape-changing spider began to move her hands in the unmistakable gestures of a spell, as she called out words of power. A moment later, four bluish bolts of magical force streaked toward him.

Lothir paled, realizing instantly that he could neither run nor hide, for the magic missiles were unerring. Instead, he ducked down into a crouch, his eyes squeezed shut, with the turtle shell held up in front of him. It was a feeble defense, to be sure, but it was all he had. Then the bolts struck, and his pitiful shield exploded in a shower of eldritch sparks and fragments of shell.

He opened his eyes again, squinting from the flash of light that had dazzled his sensitive eyes once more, and saw the smoking remnants of his shield, which had been reduced to a few shards on the cavern floor. His gaze whipped about to the aranea, who was already casting another spell. He picked up one large shard and threw it at her; the jagged piece of shell struck her cheek, spoiling the spell. She cursed, all pretense of friendliness gone. He didn't wait for her to start another spell, he simply turned and ran for the tunnel he had entered from.

"Get back here, you brat! I'm not finished with you yet!" She snarled, and he looked back just in time to see a mass of thick, silvery strands shooting toward him form the creature's abdomen. He dived to the side, ducking behind two narrow stalagmites, just before the web reached him. It hit the ground with a wet noise, leaving a large patch of stone covered in sticky filaments.

"Leave me alone!" He yelled, his voice echoing eerily in the cavern, and peeked around the side of the larger spire. But Shelatchka was no longer there. He was puzzled for a moment, then heard the faint clicking of her skittering on the ceiling. He looked up, only to see her suddenly dropping down at him from above. He yelped again, slashing wildly with his kukri as he fell backwards to avoid being pinned. He felt his blade hit something soft, and she landed with a screech in the spot where he'd stood. A long gash had opened up across her middle; somehow, he had managed to wound her.

She stared down with an expression of shock, as thick greenish ichor oozed from the fresh wound. His knife and hand were covered in the sticky gore, and he wrinkled his nose at the foul stench. She glared back at him again, her cold black eyes gleaming with murderous rage in the glow of the floating lights.

"You're going to pay for that, you spineless worm!" She roared, and raised two long, hook-taloned legs to skewer him. Lothir scrambled backward, the hairy legs coming down just inches below his groin. He slashed again, and this time severed one of the legs. She shrieked again. He scuttled back again, then clambered to his feet, and ran for the tunnel. And this time, he didn't look back.

He heard her scream of fury, and then the sound of something hitting the tunnel entrance. Only when he was far down the tunnel did he dare to turn his head. The aranea had spewed her web at him again, but had missed, and hit the portal instead. A large, glistening mass of webs now hung across the entrance, blocking her from pursuing him further. Then he realized that even if it had remained clear, the tunnel was too low and narrow for her to follow. Never-the-less, he kept running, and didn't stop until he had reached the crack that led back through the wall into the cavern of Argos Hall.

When he finally crawled back through the long fissure, he was panting from fear and fatigue, and his clothes were dirty from crawling through damp tunnels. He scrambled out into the open cavern, still clutching the kukri tightly. He was in the farthest corner of the grove, near a spot where a large chunk of rock had broken loose from the ceiling after a long-ago earthquake. Tyrant's Isle, as his island home was often called by surface dwellers, was frequently wracked by tremors both large and small, though none had ever caused any severe damage here in the sea-cave.

He got up, brushing dirt and bits of crushed mushrooms from his tunic, then belatedly remembered the flute. It was still tucked in his belt, but there was little chance of trying it out now that his exploration had been put to an end. He pulled it out, then sighed heavily, and went to his secret cache of curious finds hidden beneath a stone beside the stalk of a fallen giant mushroom. The stone was part of a stalactite that had broken, leaving chunks of itself scattered over the floor of the grove. He pulled the stone up, placing the flute back into the small bag he had placed under it. He put the knife in as well, thinking it would come in handy if he ever went back into the tunnel.

After making sure the stone was back in place, he slowly made his way back toward the towering spires of his home, wishing he had been able to explore more of the passage. He snuck back toward the House silently; he knew that if anyone saw the state of his clothes, he would likely be punished. So he levitated straight up to his own room, avoiding the stairs so he would not be spotted. He was just stepping down onto the balcony when he heard the door open. He froze, glancing over toward the door in apprehension.

"Oh! My prince, I did not know you were in here, or I would have knocked, and- by the gods, what happened to you? Little one, your clothes are a mess!" He was surprised to see Ravyn, a cleaning rag and broom in one hand, staring at him in shock. "What were you doing, rolling in the refuse pit?" She said with a twinkle in her eyes.

He took the chiding in stride, relieved that it was only her, and not one of his parents. "Please don't say anything about this- I was out in the grove, and I fell…." It was a lie, of course, but he was afraid to tell her what he had really been doing. She would only worry.

Ravyn knew the young prince well enough to tell that he was lying. She gave him a skeptical look, and set down the broom, folding her arms across her chest. "Really, now? I hope you can come up with a better excuse before your mother sees this. She would throw one of her fits." She chuckled softly, and came over to examine him more closely. "Sorden's bolts, lad- your hair is singed! And what is that horrid splatter on your sleeve?"

Lothir looked down at the floor, noticing the bits of web stuck to his boots. He blushed, ashamed at having been caught in the lie. "I- um, I found a new passage into the wilds, and decided to see where it went. I ran into some, uh, trouble." He hedged around the question, not wanting to tell her that he had almost been eaten by a huge shape-shifting female spider looking for a meal. Or a mate- he still wasn't sure about that part.

Ravyn pursed her lips in disapproval. "Trouble, my prince? Just what _sort_ of trouble? Why don't you change while you tell me about it- I've laundry still to do, anyway, so I might as well add those to the rest." She sighed, and went about cleaning the room while she waited for her young friend to come clean as well.

He let out a long breath before he tugged off the tunic, then kicked off his boots. "It was an aranea- at least that's what she called herself. She tried to have me for dinner."

Ravyn stopped in the middle of wiping down the wardrobe, and whirled on him. "Dinner?! Oh, little warrior, you should not have gone out alone, it's too dangerous! You could have died!"

The drow sat down heavily, and scowled. "I wasn't afraid.," he said quietly, though in truth he had been terrified. He looked up at her, and suddenly grinned impishly. "I don't think she likes me very much, though; I gashed her belly, and cut off one of her legs!"

Ravyn gaped at him, then shook her head and laughed. "Well, now- that's my brave warrior! But promise you won't try anything so foolish again, I don't want to lose you, my darling prince. Now, you should go take a bath, and change into something that doesn't reek of spider gore and death." She smiled, leaned over him, then brushed his cheek with one hand and kissed his brow.

He nodded, and pulled some clean clothes out of the wardrobe. He wandered down to the family's bathing chamber, which contained a large pool dug right out of the stone, with a small hearth that was used to heat stones to keep the water warm. He stripped, then tossed several hot rocks into the water, waiting until it was well-heated before stepping in. It took several changes of stones, and nearly a half hour, but at last it was ready.

As he sank into the warm water, he thought of what Ravyn had said, and how narrowly he had escaped death. _Some warrior I am_, he thought sourly. He had been too frightened to do much more than run away, and even that had been only after cowering on his knees like a whipped slave. He hated himself for being so weak.

And yet… He wondered what would have happened had he been more courageous. Could he kill the aranea? And if he did, what sort of monster would that make _him_? He had never witnessed death before, beyond watching the servants slaughter one of the rothe on occasion. But those were simple, dumb beasts- animals that served no greater purpose than as food. Was it different to kill an intelligent being, even one as wicked as the aranea? He didn't know, and was a little afraid to find out.

Thinking about that made him remember the words his father had said. In six months, he would leave for the city to learn how to kill. He didn't know if he was ready for that. He barely noticed that he was shaking, in spite of the warm water. When he finally remembered to wash himself, he realized he had been in the pool far too long, and had missed the dinner gong. He grimaced, hurrying to get clean as fast as he could, for he knew his mother would yell at him again for being late. She was always yelling. He hated it. He finally dried off with a sigh, slipped into the fresh clothes, and ran to the dining hall as fast as his small feet would carry him.

Lady Ardra was angry, of course, and as punishment for disrupting the meal he had been sent down to the armory to polish every last piece of armor and weapon. By the time he was finished, it was late into the night, and his arms ached from rubbing and buffing so much metal. His hands were raw from the polish, as well. He fell into bed wearily, too tired even to dream.

Lothir spent the remainder of the next few days in his normal routine, though he had determined that he would go back to Shelatchka's lair and find a way to pass beyond it. He knew going back would be dangerous, but he was eager to explore more of the unknown tunnels. So each day, besides his clandestine studies of Jezdin's spells, he also made an effort to learn all that he could about the aranea, and as many other creatures of the Wilds as possible. He was going back, but this time, he would be prepared.

He had begun practicing his magic more fervently, as well. He had already learned the hard way that a good magical defense could prove crucial to survival, and though he still had difficulty with even the simplest of combat spells, he supposed that any magic was better than none at all. So he worked harder than ever, and soon learned that the spells that came most easily were those that relied more on words of power and simple gestures than on exotic materials or complex sigils to cast. Little did he know that such a seemingly small distinction would one day lead him to discover his true path.

So it was that he first learned the power of sounds and words, and how they could be woven into spells that influenced the mind or created illusions, or could even deafen, shatter stone, or kill. He found he had no real interest in the most potent ones, for he had noticed that the more powerful spells seemed almost entirely suited to causing death and destruction, and little else. In any case, they were beyond his abilities, and seemed likely to remain so, at least until he had more experience.

Instead, he discovered that he had a gift for brief rhyming spells, or those that could be sung. The ones he enjoyed the most were those that created illusions of sight or sound, and so he began attempting to draw colorful images in the air with them, of the many creatures or people he had read about with Ravyn. His first attempts were feeble little things, barely visible, misshapen, that faded almost as quickly as he made them. Yet after only a few tries, he found that all he really had to do was visualize what he wanted, and it would appear almost at will. He drew from his memory of the pictures in his father's books, and soon found entire scenes materializing before his delighted eyes.

He practiced such spells out in the mushroom grove, well away from where anyone could see or hear, for he did not wish anyone to learn the reason for his interest. The young drow wished to keep the unknown tunnels as his own secret, something to be shared only with Ravyn. He yearned to see things none of his people ever had, and to discover new places and creatures never seen. Thus, he resolved to learn as much as he could, and become stronger, so that he might one day be like the brave heroes from Ravyn's tales.

Those tales and songs had been far more than mere stories to the boy. They resonated with a truth and purpose that seemed at odds with everything around him. His world was dark and cold; he wanted to see the colors of the world above, of which he had always heard, but never known. In the Underdark, the only colors to see were shades of black, grey, and brown- the unfeeling colors of earth and stone. Yet for Lothir, it was not enough. He wanted more.

After five days, he had begun to think Jezdin would not come back. The sixth day, he went down to begin his daily lessons, expecting to find Shiallin; instead, the dour old mage was in his usual place, standing at the door waiting for him. He stood awkwardly, leaning on a gnarled staff, with bandages around his neck, right foot, and left arm. He had a large, half-healed gash that ran from the left temple to his chin, and was missing half his ear on that side.

"Master Jezdin? I didn't know you were back. _Vendui, Jabbuk_." he said, bowing slightly. The old mage simply glowered at him, while he went over to the small table in the corner of the room that served as a desk for his studies. Lothir pulled the book of anatomical studies Shiallin had been having him examine, set it down on the table, and opened it to the pages he had been examining over the past days. But just as he was about to slide out his seat to begin reading, Jezdin marched over and yanked it out from under him. The boy teetered backward, nearly falling before he regained his balance. He turned to look at his tutor questioningly.

"Master?!" he asked, startled. The aging sorcerer scowled darkly at him, his marred face set in a glare of hate and malice. Finally, the older drow spoke.

"Mistress Shiallin tells me I have neglected my duties in certain areas of your education. I see she has been attempting to remedy the situation. However, there are certain aspects of the subject in question that she simply cannot teach you. Therefore, I shall do so now."

His gaze fell to the open book, with its drawings and descriptions of the relevant organs and their functions. He smiled slightly, a strange look in his cold red eyes. Lothir looked at his tutor, a sudden feeling of dread coming over him that he could not explain. Jezdin's expression was so similar to the one Shiallin had worn during his "lessons" in her chamber, yet darker, somehow- more menacing.

Then he raised one hand, in which he held a small iron nail, and clenched it into a fist. "_Doera duib izil vholk_," he muttered, and suddenly Lothir felt a strange tingling sensation, a feeling of paralysis that crept over him. He tried to move, but his limbs would no longer obey him. He wanted to ask why Jezdin had placed a spell over him, but it seemed he was unable even to speak. He simply stood there, frozen.

He tried to break through the spell by sheer will, but Jezdin was far more skilled in magic; the powerful enchantment held, in spite of the innate resistance to such magic that all his kind had. No doubt the sorcerer had crafted it specifically to counter that resistance. The young drow could only stare straight ahead, only his eyes moving, while his leering master moved around him.

An instant later, he felt a gnarled hand between his shoulders, shoving him down over the table roughly. He heard a sound of the mage's robe ruffling, and then Jezdin bent low over him, his breath hot on the boy's face.

"Shiallin didn't tell you this could be used as a weapon, did she? Well, remember this lesson well, boy- and if you ever breathe _one _word of this to anyone, I will see to it that you have a fatal 'accident' during your next alchemy lesson!" Jezdin spat the words at him, his lips curled back in a cruel snarl.

Lothir tried to struggle against the hold of the spell, but his arms only hung limp at his sides, and when he tried to plead with his tutor to let him go, all that came out was a soft whimper. Then he felt that same hand at his waist, unbuckling the belt of his jerkin, and then on the lacings of his leggings. His eyes went wide, as the trousers slid down to his knees, and he suddenly realized what was happening.

He never really knew how much time passed. After the initial shock of pain and fear, it simply seemed to go on for an eternity. The only sounds were the sickening slap of flesh-on flesh, his own quiet sobs, and the mage's grunts. He could feel the cold, hard edge of the table digging into his hips, but beyond that, his mind would not register anything.

At last, he felt the old drow grab his hair, holding his head up as he spoke harshly. "_Now_ you know your place in our world. You are nothing more than a tool and a plaything for those above you, with no more rights than those common slaves who do all the hard labor here. Only the strong survive in our society, and you clearly are not. A spineless worm like you could never rule this House, or any other. Your father believes you will follow him into greatness, but I know better. Perhaps you thought yourself immune to the intrigues and plots of this House? Well, _this_ is the reality. If they only knew what a weak-willed little coward you are, they would drag you to the temple as meat for the Goddess. What a pity. Now, I have more _important _business to attend, so I think I shall leave you to think on what I have taught you today. And remember what I said- not _one_ word, or else!"

He slammed the boy's head back down on the table, laughing coldly, and turned away, striding off with his long robe ruffling around him. Lothir heard the doors slam closed behind him, as he was left alone, shaking from fear and betrayal, in the echoing silence of the room. He felt weak, his knees buckling under him, and he slid off the table to fall painfully to the floor on his already hurting backside. The spell had finally begun to fade, at least a little; he pulled his knees up to his chest, and simply sat there for a long time, his arms wrapped around them, rocking as he cried softly. It was a long time before he finally got up, stumbling and shaking, and pulled his soft lizard-hide trousers back up.

Afterward, he was never quite sure how he ended up in the family's bathing room; he had wandered aimlessly, half in a stunned daze, for a time, flinching away whenever any of the House retainers or slaves passed him by- which only made them send odd looks in his direction. All he really remembered was the feeling of disgust and the sense of having lost something important. He had felt a chill that had nothing at all to do with the air, and had heated the water as much as he could stand, then sank in until only his head was above the steaming water, while he tried vainly to wash away the filthy, crawling feeling that assailed him.

An hour passed- or maybe two, he wasn't sure- then the door opened and he was no longer alone. His head whipped around to gaze guardedly at the individual that entered. Once again, it was Ravyn who came upon the young boy, having entered the bathing chamber to prepare the pool for Lady Ardra's mid-morning bath; his mother was normally a late-riser, so he was frequently able to avoid her at breakfast unless she had important matters to attend. On seeing the young drow already in the pool, Ravyn paused, a bucket and mop in one hand, and a brush and sponge in the other.

"Oh, I didn't realize anyone was in here- forgive the intrusion, young master. You really should lock the door when you're in here. I'll return when you're finished." She turned to leave, but something made her hesitate. She glanced back at him, and her brow furrowed, as she noticed the dull, half-dazed stare he gave her, which was so unlike his usual bright smile and cheerful greeting.

Ravyn set everything aside, and took a few tentative steps toward him, wondering why he seemed so distant and quiet. He was trembling in spite of the warm water, as if in a state of near shock. He gazed up at her with a lost, apprehensive expression, and she knew something was wrong. He watched her warily, a haunted look of betrayal and fear in his eyes.

"Little warrior? Is something wrong?" She came closer, and noticed that he kept his glacier-blue gaze riveted to her, shrinking back slightly as she approached. She moved slowly closer to the pool, picking up a cloth as she came to the edge of the pool. "Do you need something, my prince? Perhaps I could help you?"

She soaked the cloth in the warm water, and leaned close to wash the youth's face. He let out a whimper, and scooted further away, but slipped in the water. His head smacked hard on the edge, and he went under for a moment. Ravyn dropped the cloth, knelt down beside the pool, and reached in to grasp him by the shoulders and pull him back up. He felt her hands as he came back up again, and let out a shriek that almost caused her to let go. He was fighting like a wounded animal now, clawing, squirming, and trying to scramble away, while she leaned further over the water to try to drag him out before he hurt himself again. What was wrong with the boy? He acted as if she was trying to kill him!

Then the elf woman finally managed to pull him out of the pool, and held the screaming, struggling, slippery young drow close, wrapping her arms around him even as he tried frantically to escape her. She whispered soothingly, stroking his tousled white hair, her simple tunic plastered to her skin from all the splashing he had done in his frightened struggles. After a few long seconds, he seemed to calm a little, and the caterwauls turned into sobs. He gradually quieted, his arms wrapping around her waist in a fierce hold that surprised her with its strength. She rocked with the boy in her arms, worried that somehow he had come to harm.

Yet what could have hurt him here? He had seemed fine earlier, before…. Then it struck her. Before his morning studies with the House Mage. She had never liked the old lecher, for she had heard the rumors from the soldiers, other slaves, and even occasionally from the family themselves of his peculiar habits and interests. He had gone through more than a few of the female slaves over the last few years, leaving them broken in mind, spirit, and often in body as well. He had never gone so far as to touch her, but then again, he knew better than to touch Aldan's personal property. She was fortunate, for Aldan had long ago forbidden any other to touch her, even his own family. She belonged to him alone, and he made certain everyone knew and understood that fact.

But now it seemed the wicked older male had set his eyes on the boy, using him for his own personal pleasures, in spite of the fact that his offence could easily land him on the Venom Queen's sacrificial table. _No one _was allowed to harm a member of the family unless by the orders of the Patron or his Consort. Ravyn's face darkened in a scowl of anger at the thought of such callous treatment of a young child by the brutal and twisted sorcerer.

It was then that Lady Ardra entered the room. She took one look at the slave woman holding her son, and was instantly enraged. "What in the name of the Abyss is going on here?! Get your hands off my son, you stupid wench!" She screeched, sounding to Ravyn like a harpy.

"Forgive me, Mistress, I meant no harm. He has been acting most strangely, my Lady. I believe he has come to harm." She frowned, as the drow woman yanked the boy back by the hair. That seemed to set him off again, and he shrieked and turned to bite Ardra's hand, a wild, frightened look in his eyes.

"Silence! Stop that blubbering and get hold of yourself, you pathetic little worm!" Ardra snarled. She slapped him across his right cheek; it did not have the desired effect. Instead, he raised his tear-streaked face to look at her in disbelief, then pulled away from her.

"M- mother!" He stuttered, and to the astonishment of both females, he scrambled back over to hide behind Ravyn, clinging to her like a sleek, slender monkey. He peeked around her warily, glaring at his Matron as if she was some horrid monster.

Ravyn gaped. Had he meant _her_? Never before had he referred to her in such a way. As family. Then Ardra screeched again, and grasped the serpent-headed whip coiled at her side. She flicked it out at the elven woman, the four heads striking out at her with their fangs bared. Ravyn flinched back, raising her arms to defend herself, and cried out in pain as the heads bit into her arms. She felt the whip's poison racing through her- not strong enough to kill, for Ardra had meant it only to weaken and punish her, rather than kill outright.

The young drow suddenly launched himself at Ardra, pounding at her with his small fists, screaming bloody murder. "What is this?!" She hissed, furious. "What have you done to my son?!"

"N- Nothing, I swear! He was like this when I came in!" Ravyn protested, cringing. Then she looked up at the incensed Lady Consort, and made a gesture toward the boy. "I told you, Lady- I believe someone has hurt him. Perhaps his mind has been damaged. He was supposed to be in the training room with Master Jezdin, but I saw the House Mage going to his quarters some time ago. Perhaps you should ask _him_ what is wrong with the boy."

She gave the stern drow female a meaningful look, meeting her eyes squarely. At any other time, such insolence would have brought another lash from the whip, but Ardra paused in her tirade, realizing what the slave meant. If the elf woman's words were true, then her self-important and insolent House Mage would have much to explain. To lay hands on a member of a noble family without the leave of its ruler was cause for dire punishment.

Ardra stared down at her worthless offspring, thoroughly disgusted by his apparent weakness. Clearly, he had been unable to prevent the sorcerer from assaulting him, a sign that perhaps the child was unfit to live. Any drow child should have been able to defend himself well enough to kill his enemies even at such a young age, yet her own offspring was either incapable, or unwilling to fight. Weakness of that kind was unacceptable in a race born and bred to survive in the dangerous and treacherous Lands Below. Only the strongest, most cunning, and most brutal dark elves could live in their world of intrigue, deception, and murder. No child of the First House- and more importantly, no child of _hers_\- could be allowed to display such obvious lack of competence and will.

She scowled down in anger, for the larger problem, a least for the moment, was the sorcerer's grave offence in causing harm to a higher-ranking Noble without permission from his Patron or the Consort. He would have to be dealt with- again. She was furious that he could be so brazen to strike out against the heir, especially so soon after his last punishment. She took two long steps toward he slave, and grasped her son's arm. She yanked him along as she strode toward the door, pausing only a moment, to turn to Ravyn.

"Slave- grab that robe on the shelf and bring it here. I will not have my son roaming the House naked like some brainless Moondancer worshiper!" She snapped, and Ravyn hastened to comply, rushing over to wrap Lothir in the over-sized robe. He stood sullenly, hardly offering any resistance, though she could see that he was still very much in shock from whatever had happened.

When she was finished, the Lady Consort nodded curtly, then turned to drag him along as she left. "Now clean up the mess in here- I am going to deal with my foolish House Mage, and I want my bath ready when I return!" Then the door slammed behind them, and Ravyn was left alone in the room. She sighed, wondering whether her sweet little songbird would ever smile again after this day.

They were halfway to his father's throne room when Lothir finally began to come to his senses. He looked around in a daze, not quite knowing where he was, or why his mother was pulling him along with a furious look on her coldly beautiful face. Her grip on his arm was painfully tight, and his eyes stung from tears.

"Where are we going?" He asked softly, his voice weak and hoarse from crying and from his earlier fit of screaming.

Ardra stopped, letting go of his arm, and turned to snap at him angrily. "What, _now_ you decide to speak?! Idiot. We are going to have a talk with your tutor. Now, silence! You will follow me, and do exactly as I say, and you will not speak unless I tell you! Is that clear?!" She struck him with the back of her hand, hard enough that he staggered from the blow, and his head cracked against the wall.

He nodded mutely, his vision slightly blurred from the force of the blow to his head. He stared down at his bare feet as they continued along the corridor. Already he could feel a lump beginning to form where he'd struck the wall. He followed in silence, and wondered what was going to happen to him now. Jezdin had promised to kill him if he mentioned what had happened earlier, and he had fully believed the old mage. But now his mother knew- or at least suspected- what the wicked male had done, and she intended to punish him severely. The young drow wondered what she would do to his teacher, and why she wanted him to follow her. He had been only vaguely aware of what was going on in the bathing room, as if he had been watching everything from somewhere far away, seeing it all happen to someone else.

They wound their way up the stairs to the huge throne room at the top of the central spire, its domed ceiling shaped into a gigantic spider with its legs forming the arches of the dome, a lattice of white fairie-fire webs covering the stone spaces between. Once there, Ardra approached the large, ornate obsidian chair atop the low central dais, and sat down. The seat was padded with purple spider-silk cushions, and depicted various venomous creatures in an orgy of feasting on their preferred prey. She snapped her fingers, and a goblin slave came scurrying out of the shadows with a tray with a bottle of spiderblood wine and a gleaming onyx goblet with a golden serpent coiled to make the base and stem. The slave poured the wine, and handed her the goblet, though clearly not fast enough for her liking. She kicked at him as he stepped back, causing the goblin to yelp and scramble to avoid dropping the tray and its contents.

Then she held up her House insignia, the magical seal carried by all nobles of the House, and spoke a word. She communed silently for a moment, the adamantine seal's magic allowing her thoughts to carry directly to anyone who held another of the devices. Lothir himself wore one on a small silver band around his left wrist, though he never used it. The purpose of such devices was for House members to speak to each other mind-to-mind during battle, to locate those who became lost in the tunnels, and to increase the power of their in-born magical gifts. Once his mother had spoken through the insignia, she sat back- in his father's seat, the boy noted, knowing she would never have the nerve to do so had he been home- and waited. But Aldan had left the day after his argument with her on the stairs, and so she reclined in her Patron's place with ease.

Several minutes passed, during which the young drow stood uneasily in his harsh mother's presence, staring down at the floor silently. The stone was inlayed with a giant mosaic of glittering onyx, jade, and red agates, in the shape of the House symbol of a red dagger with two serpents entwined about the blade, their mouths open to reveal their threatening fangs. At last, he heard footsteps coming from the passage beyond the huge adamantine doors, and Jezdin strode into the room with an air of aloof disinterest and mild annoyance.

The sorcerer paused, half-way into the room, the moment he saw Ardra on the throne, with her son standing near-by at the foot of the dais, wearing only an oversized bathing robe. He gazed at the boy suspiciously, as though he somehow knew this summons had something to do with his earlier indiscretion.

"You summoned me, Mistress?" He asked calmly. He gave her a low bow, and was careful not to meet her gaze directly. He was not so foolish as to appear insolent before the Lady Consort.

"Yes. I did. Tell me, Jezdin- do you like your position here?" She asked after a moment, forcing him to wait in uncomfortable silence for her reply.

"Yes, Lady, I do. I am honored to have been worthy of adoption into this most esteemed House," he answered carefully. He bowed again, not quite so low this time, and gave her an ingratiating smile.

"Then why is it that you have dishonored it?!" She suddenly snarled, sitting upright and leaning toward him with undisguised menace in her hard red eyes. The House Mage stepped backward in surprise, a look of fear suddenly coming over him. At that moment, Shiallin and four other priestesses came into the room behind him.

"My Lady! I do not know what you mean! How have I displeased you?" He asked, suddenly falling to his knees with his head bent low. A sheen of sweat covered his brow now, as he tried vainly to turn aside his Mistress's anger. She knew. He did not understand how, but she knew. Had the boy told her, after all? From the look of fearful confusion on the child's face, it did not seem so. Yet…

Ardra stared at him for a long time, relishing making him suffer. At last she spoke. "No, I believe you _do_ know. You dared to lay a hand on my son, and then proclaim you do not know how you have dishonored this House?! How _dare_ you claim ignorance!" She shouted, her voice echoing coldly throughout the huge room. Jezdin flinched, and the arc of priestesses closed in behind him.

"Mistress, I only did as I was bid- to teach the boy what you wished. Forgive my not discussing my methods with you, but I thought perhaps it required a more 'hands-on' approach, just as Lady Shiallin has done. I meant no disrespect to this House, my Lady." He bent his head again in deference, as Ardra stared down at him angrily.

Another interminable silence followed, before she finally responded. "I see. Well, Jezdin, while I applaud your ingenuity and 'thoroughness' in your methods of teaching, I _cannot _overlook the fact that you have harmed a ranking member of this House- a member of _my family_\- without my leave or that of our Lord Patron. For that, you must be punished. The Venom Queen demands it." Her voice held a note of finality.

The aging sorcerer looked up, and saw his doom there. He paled, and rose, backing away from the dais- right into the grasp of the waiting priestesses. "No! You cannot do this! Please, my Lady, let me redeem myself!" He squealed, his voice now sounding much as Lothir's had when his voice cracked.

"Shiallin, please silence him," she said, then turned back to Jezdin. "I have decided on your punishment, Jezdin. You are sentenced to the drider pit."

"You're feeding me to those abominations?!" He screeched, frantic.

"No, fool. You are going to _join_ them." She said, and waved her hand absently, as Shiallin cast a quick spell to silence him, and the other four grabbed his arms and bound them behind him. Jezdin tried to scream, and struggled vainly against the larger and stronger females, but no sound came out, and he was easily overpowered.

Then she looked down at the boy, and rose from the chair, beckoning him to follow. "Come. I wish for you to see what becomes of those who dare to defy the laws of the Goddess." She said nothing more; he nodded slowly, knowing she would urn her ire on him if he did anything but what she had commanded.

So he followed her back down to the temple, with Shiallin and the others right behind them. He entered fearfully, gazing around at the massive statue in the center. He had always hated that statue, with its hideous body of a spider, scorpion tail and pincers, and serpent-countenanced drow. It had always frightened him to see it during the family's services on holy days, and now it reminded him of Shelatchka.

The priestesses dragged the silently shrieking Jezdin to the stone altar, its black marble surface stained with large splotches of dark reddish-brown, a testament to past victims, and released his arms only to tie them to the spider-shaped face of the table. The stone was held up by two large bronze scorpions, while enchanted manacles formed from living vipers coiled restlessly at each of the four pairs of 'legs' that made the altar's ends. The priestesses placed his hands and feet within the writhing coils, which snapped tight the moment he was inside them; the heads sank their fangs into his flesh, to inject a venom which made him weak and lethargic.

Then Ardra, Shiallin, and the other priestesses circled around the altar, leaving Lothir to watch from a spot just outside the giant circle on the temple floor. He watched as they shed their clothes; then one of them lit a brazier on each side of the statue, and they all began chanting in a language he did not know, but the sound of which made his blood run cold. He saw his mother step forth to stand at the sorcerer's head, while he moaned pitifully in silence, his eyes wide in terror. She spoke a word that resonated with power, and an ear-splitting shriek rent the air as the silence was lifted from the mage.

She drew out a long, serpent-shaped dagger, shimmering with a strange green radiance, and made a long, shallow cut down Jezdin's chest. He shrieked again, consumed by pain and fear, and began struggling even more fiercely against his living restraints. She placed her hands against the sides of his head, chanting in that same dark speech, and suddenly the temple echoed with his cries of terror and agony, while his body began to convulse as the powerful curse took hold.

The young drow watched in growing horror, knees shaking, eyes huge with fear at what was happening before him. The old mage continued to scream, his body growing, shifting into something monstrous. From the waist down, it became bulbous and rounded, turning glossy and hard, his legs lengthening and splitting into eight slender, segmented spikes with hook-taloned ends, with short, bristly hairs covering them. His upper half changed as well, his arms growing longer and thinner, his hands tipped with long sharp claws. His eyes darkened, splitting into four large, shiny black orbs like those of an insect, that gleamed with malevolent hatred. A pair of huge fangs sprouted from his jaws, glistening with venom.

It was only after the horrendous transformation was complete that he was released from his bonds; he leaped up to stand on the table, his cold black gaze falling on the priestesses, filled with hate. He bared his dripping fangs, and reared back on the two hind pairs of legs, slashing out with the front-most pair at one of the junior clerics. She started to shout a spell of protection, but was skewered by the sharp talons of his spindly legs, and fell to the floor in a heap, blood running across the holy circle toward Lothir's feet. He yelped, and backed away in terror of the thing his tutor had become.

"Idiots! Hold him!" Snarled Ardra, as Jezdin made a leap that cleared their heads and sent him to the floor in the boy's direction, murder in his countenance. Lothir screamed, thinking he was about to meet the same end as the priestess, but his mother and Shiallin shouted out in unison, and the hideous thing suddenly screeched to a halt just a few feet away from him. He looked up, to see the mage frozen in the thrall of a spell- the very same spell of holding he had used himself.

Then the three remaining priestesses regained their composure, and grabbed Jezdin, dragging him off into a doorway that led down into the dungeons and deepest recesses of the House. Lothir had been down there only once, and the dank, cold pits had chilled his spine, smelling of death and stale air. The helpless sorcerer could not even scream or plead for mercy as he was carried down into the deepest bowels of the Hall. Then Ardra turned on her son, her face a mask of fury.

She strode toward him, brandishing the dagger, and stopped just inches from him. He looked down at his feet, knowing it was forbidden to look a ranking female in the eyes without permission. She cupped his chin in her hand, and forced him to look up- a sign of dominance meant to humiliate- then slowly drew the dagger up.

"Listen well, my son," she began harshly. "What you have just seen, no other male in this House but our Lord Patron has ever witnessed. This is the penalty for disobeying or dishonoring our laws and traditions. You have disappointed me. If ever you do so again, I will bring you down here to suffer the same fate as our former House Mage just did. Do you understand?"

He nodded slowly, swallowing hard. His knees shook, and he was on the verge of tears, but didn't dare cry. He knew she would see it as weakness. Then she reached up, grasping a wispy lock of his hair, and cut it off with a quick pass of her blade. She held it out for him to see.

"This will remind you of what I have said. With this, I can change you at any time, no matter where you are. Remember that." She said, then clenched it in her hand, and stormed from the temple, her heeled slippers clicking like the claws of a spider as she went.

Lothir stared after his mother for a moment, then felt a tug on his ear as Shiallin came up behind him and began to pull him along. He yelped from the pain, which only made her yank harder. "Come, I believe we still have your studies to attend to. There has been enough dawdling for one day."

He pulled away, and quickly followed, knowing better than to protest. Something sank inside his gut, as if he'd just had them pulled out. He looked up at her, but she was already at the doors, striding confidently, yet as silent as a shadow. He remembered to walk behind her, as he wondered, for what seemed the thousandth time, if anyone ever even cared how he felt, or what he thought. It certainly didn't seem that way. No one but Ravyn. If not for her, he thought he might die of loneliness. No one else ever spoke to him except to issue a command. _What good is being a Noble_, he wondered, _if everyone just orders me around like one of the slaves?_

Several hours later, Shiallin looked up from where she lounged in the training room, calmly watching him sparring with Master Nalvir with a pair of long wooden practice swords. They were heavy in his hands, being too large for his still-small frame to wield properly, but Nalvir was of the opinion that using full-sized weapons would strengthen him far more than using a smaller one ever could. Unfortunately, it slowed him down so much that he could not block many of the Weapon-Master's attacks, a fault for which he was repeatedly reprimanded, and even punished. She gloated while he tried yet again to parry one of Nalvir's blades, and failed- again.

"You obviously are not trying hard enough, boy," growled the Weapon-Master, as his own stick took the lad's feet from under him. He smiled with grim satisfaction as the young prince fell to his backside with a hard thump, grunting. But the boy was smart enough to avoid remaining in so vulnerable a position, and Nalvir's next swing met only air as he dived aside, and came back to his feet. He brought his own pair up to parry a thrust to his middle, but it only left him open to a second strike from Nalvir's other hand. He was struck on the left arm, hard enough to numb it, and he dropped the stick from tingling fingers with a yelp.

"Stupid! _Never_ leave yourself open like that- it's a good way to get yourself killed!" Nalvir snarled. Lothir looked up at the long scar that ran from his forehead, across his nose, down to his jaw, and flinched.

"These are too big!" He complained, though he was sure the excuse would only earn him another round of practice. Nalvir had already sentenced him to five extra rounds for his earlier mistakes. He was tired, panting, and could barely even hold them up any more, but didn't dare say so.

"Perhaps you should let him use something else. Brute strength is not always the answer, Nalvir." Shiallin's bored statement gave the other pause for a moment. He scowled, then stepped back, turning to her.

"And what good is speed or agility if one tires too quickly? I already know he can use the smaller blades with ease- the boy must be strong enough to handle a _real _weapon, and to use something heavier than a simple dagger. The instructors in Terrillis will not be as tolerant as I am."

"Ah, but we cannot all be paragons of strength. Perhaps magic is more his forte?" She replied, with a disinterested wave of her hand.

Nalvir sneered. "Hardly. From what I heard from our House Mage, the boy is unsuited for the Art. He seems of little use as anything _other_ than a warrior."

The young prince listened to their discussion, angry that they were speaking of him with no more concern than they might discuss what the servants had made for breakfast. And no one seemed to mention that the sorcerer was now a hideous monster lurking deep in the lowest levels of the House. He wanted to tell them that he could use magic, but that would mean giving up his secret. For some reason, he was unwilling to do so, for he knew that doing so would cost him his only sanctuary.

It seemed the day had only gone from bad to worse, for a short time later, Shiallin called a halt to the practice, and commanded both males to follow her. Nalvir did so without a single word or glance at her, and she led them both back to her quarters in the servant's spire. The young lad fought off a growing sense of unease, for he had a notion that she had something in mind for them both that he would not like. Not one bit.

As it happened, he was right. She slipped off her priestly robes, revealing that she was bare beneath; he glanced up at the Weapon-Master to see him gazing at her hungrily. She motioned for them both to join her, but this time he balked. No amount of coaxing or even threats would convince him to do what she was suggesting. Not now, after what he had endured at the hands of his other tutor. He backed away, even as the larger, stronger male loomed over him, coming closer with a look of absolute fury.

"Obey her, worm, or you will be sorry!" The scar-faced drow snapped. Lothir shook his head, trembling.

"Oh, by the Queen's eighth leg!" Shiallin exclaimed, and reached out to pull him toward them both. "That idiot has done more damage than even he knew. Now it is left to me to fix it." She muttered, more to herself than anyone. Nalvir had already removed his own attire, and was waiting on the bed with an expression of eager anticipation. She stared down at her charge thoughtfully, as if trying to decide what to do.

"Perhaps the fool's influence can be- cut out?" Suggested the Weapon-Master. She turned to him, regarding his idea, then smiled.

"Yes," she replied. "That seems a good solution. The Goddess will be pleased."

Nalvir grinned wickedly, and grabbed the boy to hold him down. The young prince struggled, yelling and thrashing, while the Weapon-Master kept a tight grip on his arms, and pinned him down. "Heh, he's a feisty little bugger," he noted, as he got a kick in the face for his trouble. His fingers dug into the boy's arms, leaving deep bruises, but Lothir didn't seem to notice the pain; it only made him struggle all the more fiercely.

"Just hold him a moment, will you?" Snapped the priestess impatiently. Then she reached down to lay her hands against his head, and she began a chant. He fought harder, not knowing what she meant to do, but somehow understanding that she was attacking him- in the most subtle and cruel of ways. He felt something probe into his mind, and realized she was doing something to his head, to the very essence of his being.

Several minutes passed, while Shiallin dove deep into the youth's mind, searching for just a few threads of memory. She sent her thoughts down, moving along the strands of his own thoughts, until she found what she wanted. All it would take was a simple tug here, a tweak there, to rearrange his memory of the morning's events into what she wanted. She frowned briefly when she passed over the incident in the bath, but left it mostly alone. She knew that her work would be less intrusive if she altered only the necessary threads. She plucked and moved them expertly, like a spider rearranging its web, until she was satisfied. Then she drew back, looking down into his confused gaze, and smiled.

"I believe that will do. Let him go," she said. The young drow shook his head as the other male released him, and sat up with a puzzled look. He seemed to recall that he had been afraid of something, but now he didn't know what it was. He stared from one teacher to the other, noticing that they were both undressed, and suddenly remembered where he was. The priestess was watching him, as if waiting for something. He shook his head again, trying to clear it, wondering what had happened.

"Well?" She said, and gave him a pointed stare. "Are you going to do as I asked, or must I use the whip?" She said. He swallowed, and slowly removed the robe he wore- he vaguely remembered his mother saying something about putting something on before the ritual- then sat down to see what she wanted him to do.

The next two hours were eye-opening, to say the least.

He staggered out of the room later, weak-kneed and more exhausted and sore than he had ever thought he could be. Certainly the "lesson" had not been what he was used to. Part of him knew that she had simply been preparing him for what to expect from some of the more jaded Matrons, but he still thought it was distasteful. Jezdin might have hurt a bit more- only to be expected for the first time, the old mage had assured him- but at least he had been affectionate. He felt sad that his other tutor had been punished, though he still didn't understand what for. He dimly recalled that he had done something wrong, but his mother had not said exactly what it was. But the sorcerer had always treated him fondly, and now Lothir felt sorry for his fate.

He was only too grateful to be left on his own, after everything that he had seen this day. He even skipped dinner, feeling more than a little depressed. Why did they have to turn everything he enjoyed into something cold and- he searched for a word to give a name to the emotion- wrong? It wasn't fair. He wandered the halls for a long time, feeling lonely, and couldn't even rouse enough enthusiasm to smile at Ravyn as she passed him near the library. He finally wandered down into the lower levels of the main tower, deciding to amuse himself by examining more of the treasures within the vaults, by way of the secret passage he had discovered.

He had not been there long, poking among the glittering array of strange and wondrous items that comprised the wealth of his House, when he noticed something shining brightly from a small chest in one corner. He went cautiously over to it, thinking one of the objects within might be magically trapped, but all he saw was a soft, silvery-white glow coming from something half-buried among the gems and jewelry and other small baubles in the chest. The first thing he discovered was that the glow came from not one, but two items. He picked up a small silver dagger, set with a moonstone in the hilt; it felt strangely warm, and almost seemed to hum happily when he touched it. He held it for a long moment, and finally decided to take it with him, for it sounded almost mournful when he put it down, as if it wanted to remain with him.

Then he saw a flash from something else in the chest, and poked through the contents until he found a large silver pendant on a slender mithril chain. It was shaped like a sword set point-down over a large circle with many tiny swirls around the disk. It glowed with the same silver light, and he felt a sense of peace and joy when he held it. Almost as if it meant something. The symbol was not at all familiar, yet he had a strange feeling that he knew it, or at least that he should.

So he took it too, then started back toward the hidden door that led out. He paused once more in the middle of the room, and eyed a large golden box set on a pedestal there. He had seen it many times before, and had always wondered what was inside. It had a large symbol in the lid, of a dragon coiled around a sword, and two words written above it. _Telu'kirra_, read the first, a word he did not know, for it was in elvish, and he was only vaguely familiar with the language. The other word, though, he did know. He had heard it spoken several times before- when he questioned Ravyn about his father's past. Elterrinos. The true name of Aldan's original House.

He eyed it for a long moment, and finally could resist the temptation no longer. He reached out cautiously to touch the box, hoping there were no spell-traps on it. It had no obvious lock, only a small needle-shaped protrusion where the latch should be. He studied it, as he had every time before, wondering how to open the box. He tried simply lifting the lid, but it would not budge, for it was sealed tighter than if it had been melted shut. He picked it up and shook it, and felt something move inside, but all he got for his troubles was a small jolt. It was enspelled to deter thieves, then.

He tried turning the lid, pressing the symbol, and even pushing and pulling on the tiny needle, but still nothing happened. Frustrated, he tried speaking the words, first in drow, then in auld elvish. He tried them backwards, but even that did nothing. He stared at the box again, knowing it was important somehow, and grimaced. Finally, he decided to try twisting the needle, hoping it might be some sort of latch. His fingers slipped on the smooth golden surface, and he pricked his thumb on the needle. He stuck it in his mouth to ease the pain, then suddenly froze in surprise as he saw the thing slowly slide into the side of the box. Then the lid slid open, and he stared down in amazement at what was inside.

The box was padded inside with a soft lining of midnight blue velvet, and lying nestled within was a large, blood-red gem. It was perfectly round, flat on the bottom, with a raised star pattern carved into it. The gem was nearly two inches in diameter, and glowed softly with a deep red light. He reached out hesitantly to touch it; the glow brightened slightly, the star flashing briefly as if winking at him. He picked it up, and it felt warm in his hand. He held it for a long time, turning it over in his hand and letting his fingers run over the smooth surface and expertly carved angles of the star. Finally, he set it back into its velvet nest, and closed the lid, making sure to lay the box precisely where it had been. It was a mystery that would have to wait for another day.

Some time later, he wandered back up to his own room, and soon realized how tired he was. So he got ready for bed, and was just slipping under the thin blanket when the door opened. Ravyn entered cautiously, giving him a long look. "I thought you might be hungry, little one," she said, holding up a tray of left-over food from dinner. He sat up, nodding as she set it down on the small table by his bed.

"Thank you," he said, before he picked up the plate with the roasted deep bat dripping with rothe cheese and sautéed mushrooms, and began to eat. She sat beside him in silence until he had finished, then rose to take everything away. "Wait," he said softly, and she turned back. "Could you stay with me, please?"

The slender elf woman moved back over, and set the tray back down. "Are you alright, my prince? I heard what happened this morning. Your mother was snarling all through her bath today, about traitors to the House and useless males. I might have laughed at her, if I did not fear her so much."

He shrugged, as if it meant little to him. "What did he do? I don't understand why she punished him, or why she made me watch. He was always a good tutor, and he seemed to like me. Do you know?" He asked, and she found herself puzzled. Had he truly blocked everything out so quickly?

"Don't you remember? How he- hurt you? What he did was wrong, little one. I was truly afraid for you this morning. You were so afraid. I hate them for what they did."

"What do you mean? He didn't-" He began, uncomprehending. He seemed not to know anything of the sorcerer's cruel misdeed. Ravyn wondered how he could forget so easily. Had his mind been damaged after all, then? The thought of such harm being done to such a fragile child angered her; how dare they? Even the Lady Consort had hardly seemed to care what happened to the boy, so long as he could still be of use to her. It was beyond all comprehension to her that anyone could so blatantly ignore their own child, and all for the sake of their own desires.

"Tell me, what do you remember?" She asked finally; she had begun to suspect something was amiss. His lack of reaction worried her.

The young drow shrugged. "He showed me how to- you know," he said, feeling embarrassed, though he could not quite say why. "It was different than with a girl, but that's not bad, is it?" He looked up at her, wondering why she seemed so concerned.

She frowned, and sighed. This was not the boy she had held and comforted this morning. Something was wrong, she was certain of it. "How did you feel?" She asked, hoping to coax him out of his strange denial.

He thought for a moment, then frowned. "I didn't really like it, I guess. Not like before," he said. "Will you sing to me and keep me company?" He asked hopefully.

"Alright, little one. Just for a little while," she said, and sang a soft lullaby while he curled up beside her. Soon he had fallen asleep, and she sat for a long time, simply watching over her young charge. She stayed, unwilling to leave him alone. Which was just as well, for it wasn't long before he had begun to dream, and those dreams did not appear to be pleasant ones. He was whimpering softly in his sleep, and tossing about, becoming tangled in the blanket, as he fought something she could not see.

The drider was chasing him; he tried to run, but it came after him with fangs dripping, hissing its hunger, black eyes filled with a malignant, murderous rage. No matter how fast he ran, he could not escape. The thing caught him, and was trying to devour him, wrapping him up in its webs, and he fought, but could not break free. He felt a sharp pain that tore through his nether region, as the thing shoved something into him from behind; it erupted out of his throat, cutting off the scream even before he could make it. Then he heard his mother's voice, spitting out a dark, vile curse, and he felt himself changing. He tore free, but could only shriek in terror as he saw his body distorted, corrupted into something unholy.

And still he was trapped in a huge web, with a creature out of his worst fears crawling toward him- the wicked goddess herself, come to tear him apart. It bit down, and he felt its venom coursing through him, burning like fire. He thrashed, but it would not release him. The drider laughed, but it had his mother's voice. He was choking on the huge, sharp spike that the thing had skewered him with, and the web held him helpless. Just as he thought the demon's venom would eat through him from within, something shook him. He finally woke, still thrashing wildly, eyes wide and streaming with tears. He looked around, only to find himself wrapped up in the blanket, with Ravyn holding him and rocking gently.

"Shh, it's alright. It was just a dream. It can't hurt you, little one," she whispered soothingly. He kicked away the cover, and curled up against her, clinging desperately. She held him tight, while he let out all the pain in a torrent of tears.

"He- it-" He sobbed, but could not finish. He had seen a flash of something half-remembered- a feeling of being helpless, with the mage's cold voice against his face, and pain, and…. He shuddered, as he realized the image had been real; it was not merely part of the nightmare. But how could that be?

"I know," she said, pressing a tender kiss to his cheek. She did not know what to do. How did one ease such pain? How did one chase away demons that could not be seen? She wanted to tear out the cold-hearted Consort's eyes, to lash her with her own whip for such heartless disregard of her own flesh and blood. Better that he had never been born into so cruel a world, than to face the anguish of a life without love or compassion. She cursed them all silently, wishing the gods would smite them for their sins. But she knew her prayers would go unanswered- they always had. The only gods in this hellish place were dark and uncaring.

At last he fell asleep again; she stayed, still holding the boy gently, humming softly to him while he slept, hoping to keep his fears at bay. Eventually, she too, became weary, and fell into her reverie with her arms still wrapped around the young drow.

She was still there when he woke the next morning. He stirred, rousing her from her meditative trance; she looked down, and saw him gazing up at her with a sad expression. "Ravyn, why did he-" He began, but still his mind refused to accept what he had seen in the brief memory. He could not make himself think of what had happened, no matter how he tried to remember.

"I wish I knew, dearest. No one should ever have to endure such things." She kissed him again, and rose. It was early still, but she had duties to attend, and she feared she would be punished harshly if anyone discovered that she had been with him all night, rather than in the slave quarters, where she belonged.

"Is that what Father does to you?" He asked, and she whirled, startled by the unexpected question. She turned to meet his worried gaze, and found she could not answer. She looked away; he slipped off the bed, and came over to wrap his arms around her waist in consolation.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, gazing up at her sadly. "I wish I could make him stop hurting you. I hate them all," he said fiercely, and she felt him suddenly tighten his hold on her.

"Perhaps someday," she said, though she feared that she would be dead long before that ever happened. She had seen many other slaves come and go since the long ago night when her village had been burned, her family slaughtered by the vicious attack of Aldan's raiders. Most had not lived long, being brutally used, whipped, beaten, even tortured for sport or sent to the altar as sacrifices to the loathsome goddess the Lady Consort and her kin worshipped.

Only the simple fact that the Lord Patron claimed her as his own personal property and had forbidden anyone else to touch her without his leave had kept her from meeting the same fate. He was a harsh master, it was true, yet she knew he kept her as a reminder of what he had once been- a living testament to all that he had lost. She was the focus of his hatred and desire for revenge against his former race, something he could vent his anger on whenever the mood struck him- which was often.

She sighed at last, then gently pulled away from the boy, before picking up the tray from the night before. "I wish I could stay longer, little one, but I must return to my duties, lest someone come looking for me. It would be bad for us both." She said, and quickly left. He plopped back down on the bed heavily, a flood of emotions warring in his thoughts.

He was left alone, then, sitting on the edge of the bed, staring down at the floor in silence. Eventually, he got up, dressed, and prepared for another day. But today would be different; for he had decided he would never let himself be weak again. Lothir was angry at them all, and ashamed of his own inability to stand up to the evils he saw all around him. He wanted it to stop, but knowing that Ravyn was even more a victim of those evils than he himself had been made him realize that it would never end unless he did something to _make_ it. He didn't know what that something might be yet, but he did know one thing- he would have to become much stronger if he ever hoped to help his friend.

By the time he had finished breakfast, he had finally come up with a plan. He knew that his family wanted him to be prepared for the Academy when the time came to go there; he also knew that if he wanted to be stronger, he would have to study and practice all the harder, and learn how to use the magic he had begun experimenting with more adeptly. To that end, he decided the best way would be to go out into the tunnels he had found, and practice in secret.

So, after breakfast, he raced to the training room, a new sense of determination spurring him to delve into the day's lessons with gusto. When Nalvir entered to give him his daily weapon drills, he found himself paying closer attention to the older male's instructions than he had in the past. Each move was scrutinized, each parry and thrust studied and memorized. He still felt reluctant to attack when told to, preferring instead to remain defensive and let his opponent wear himself down, but he could see the need to strike if it meant winning. And he was determined not to lose ever again.

He was all too happy when the practice and other, more disturbing lessons ended, and practically ran from the room to sneak into the former House Mage's private lab and quarters to search for anything that might help him get past the aranea's lair. He knew that she would not let him go in peace, so he wanted any edge he could get against her. Not that he was particularly eager to kill the shape-shifter, but he didn't know how else to win past her.

He spent the next hour rummaging through the many spell-books and minor magical items for something useful. He found several that looked promising. The first was a simple ring of adamantine that would make him invisible for a short time when worn. There was also a small onyx wand that held a tentacle spell, which he had seen his former Master use on occasion against unruly creatures he had summoned. He even managed to find a few books that discussed various methods of spell-casting that did not rely on sigils or strange arcane materials.

He was intrigued by the mention of ancient arts that used sound and words as the source of magical power, for it sounded very close to what he had discovered himself. There was even one that told of an old elven magical art called bladesong, which it seemed was a form of combat that fused magic, song, and melee into one. The thought of such an art intrigued him, as did the treatise on something called "the Song of Creation", which he discovered was supposed to be the music heard at the beginning of time with which the gods had created the multiverse. For those who found even a few chords of this powerful melody, it was said that incredible abilities could be discovered. The song could either create or destroy, could heal, kill, or cause almost any sort of effect the user could imagine.

He took the books when he left the room, deciding to keep them. There were four in all, and all were concerned with the magic of sound and words of power, or with music as a form of arcane magic. He had even found a few spells that seemed more in keeping with what he now knew of his tutor's own personal tastes, some of which made him snicker at their purpose. A spell to increase the size of one's "assets"? It was almost enough to send the young drow into gales of laughter at the thought. More amusing still was the one that could cause a person's clothes to fall off, which he had immediately found a use for as a future prank to pull on Morganna, as a sort of revenge for all the wicked tricks she had played on him over the years.

So he spent the rest of that day, and his spare time during the next, out in the mushroom grove practicing. He understood that only by defeating the aranea would he be able to explore beyond her lair. He didn't know what he might find there, but anything had to be better than simply remaining trapped within the confining walls of his home. Or worse yet, to be sent to some strange place where he was alone and forced to obey the orders of others he did not even know.

By late evening the second day, he felt confident enough to tell Ravyn of his plan. Of course, finding a chance to speak to her alone was the difficult part, since she spent much of her time performing various duties around the House whenever her master was not in residence. She had told him once that she preferred it when Aldan was out to sea, for it meant that she was free of his attentions. The young prince had scowled at the thought of what those attentions must be like. In the end, he was forced to wait until after dinner, when his mother went to the temple for her evening rituals, and only a few other slaves were about in the dining hall cleaning up the remains of the meal.

He waited until she was away from the others, then slipped out of a shadowed corner, giving a tug at her sleeve, and quickly gestured in the silent hand language of his race for her to follow him. Her brow furrowed for a moment, as she glanced toward the others in the room. He put a finger to his lips, and winked at her with an impish grin. Curious, she set down the large, nearly empty plate of smoked pyrimo she had been about to take away; with a final glance to be certain no one noticed her departure, she followed him out the doors into the corridor beyond.

"Alright, little scamp," she whispered with a smile once they were far enough away. "What is this about?"

"I'm going back," he said, with a gleam in his sky-blue eyes. "I'm going out into those new tunnels again, and this time, I'll get past that aranea. I want to see what's out there."

"Oh, please, don't do this. You will only get yourself killed if you try. My darling one, I beg you to forget about it!" She pleaded, taking his small hands in hers. She pulled him close, for once not even caring if anyone saw. If something should happen to him, what would she do? She could never forgive herself if he came to harm, for she had grown far more fond of the boy then she had ever thought possible. It was true that she hoped he might one day set her free, but what good was freedom if she was alone?

"I have to! I can't stay cooped up here anymore- I want to see things no one else has, I want to do something for myself for once! I hate it here!" He replied fiercely. He knew that it sounded selfish and foolish, but he had tasted adventure in the dark winding passages, and now he could not shake the desire for more.

"But what will happen to me if you are not here, dearest one? I would be alone, with no one to look after. Who would free me if something happens to you out there alone? No one would ever even know what happened, and who would save me from your father then?" Ravyn said, tears beginning to fill her eyes.

"Don't worry- I'll be all right. I've been practicing, and I think I know how to beat her. Just promise you will keep this a secret!" Lothir did not quite grasp what she had meant, for it never occurred to him that she might have had any other reason for worrying than concern for his own safety. He looked up at her, and frowned to see her so upset. She was afraid; he understood that, but he also knew that unless he did something on his own now, while he still had the chance, he might never be able to break free from the demands and expectations of his family. And though he didn't know why, that was important somehow.

Ravyn shook her head sadly. "You are all that matters to me, and I cannot bear the thought of losing you, sweet prince." She asked, as she stroked his feather-soft hair. She held him, kneeling down to meet his gaze. "I fear I have done you harm, little one. I- I thought to try to influence you so that I might be free some day. But now I realize that was selfish, and I love you as if you were my own. Please, I beg you- do not go back out there."

He took a step back, surprised by her confession. He felt a stab of something in his heart, and it was not so very different from the pain he had felt that day in the training room with Jezdin, or when he had finally realized what Shiallin had done to make him forget. Anger, grief, loss- had even Ravyn turned against him now?

"You- you used me!" He accused, and slapped her hand away when she tried to touch his arm. He stared at her in shock, his innocent eyes glistening with angry tears. She suddenly found she could not meet that gaze, and so she looked down at the floor. She did not deny it.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "Please forgive me. I never meant to hurt you."

The boy stared at her, angry tears welling up. He let out a soft sob, and pulled away when she tried to console him. He glared at her, and she suddenly felt guilty for having been so selfish, when he was as much a captive of their dark, empty life as she. She opened her mouth to say something- anything to make him understand, but could find no words.

He turned, then, and ran up the long stairway to the library, where he sat for a long time, contemplating what she had said. Why, he wondered, did it seem that everyone only wanted to use him for their own purposes? He already knew his father intended for him to join him in his raids on the ships and villages of the coast. His mother, it appeared, wanted only to find some way to be rid of him. Even Shiallin seemed to have designs of her own, though what they were, he could not be certain. All he knew was that she had set her eyes on taking his mother's place as Lady Consort of the house. He was quite certain that she would do so through treachery if need be.

He was still there much later, after everyone else had retired for the night. Eventually, he heard the soft creak of the door opening, and turned to see Ravyn entering with a candle. He glared at her angrily.

"Go away," he said sullenly. "I don't want to talk to you anymore. You lied to me." She paused just inside the door, a hurt expression on her face.

"Please, I know that you're angry, but let me explain-" She began, but he merely turned his back on her, scowling. His silent rejection said more than any words ever could. "I never lied," she said after a long time, moving quietly to sit beside him on the large cushion. "I _do_ care for you, little one. I always have. I only wanted you to be happy. But I needed you, too. You are my only hope in this evil place. I only wish Morganna could be more like you, my dearest."

"You just want to be free so you can go home. Why should I believe you?" He said, his voice bitter and angry. She had always been so kind, and now he knew why. She wanted him to set her free. Then she would go far away, and leave him alone. It hurt, knowing that her kindness had meant nothing. But it did not matter, anyway. He could not have granted her wish, even if he wanted to. Only Aldan had power over her, for she belonged to him, and he would never have given her the freedom she desired.

"I am a prisoner here, little one. It has been so long since I saw the sun, and I miss it so much. And every day I am afraid that he will hurt me again. Don't you remember what you said two days ago? That you wished you could make him stop hurting me? I have endured such things for so very long, all I want is for it to end. Can you understand that?" She asked, gently squeezing his right hand, with tears in her eyes. He glanced over at her, and finally nodded.

"I suppose so. But if you went away, what would I do? I don't want to be alone. No one else talks to me, or…" He began to cry, feeling as if she had abandoned him. Why did it hurt so much?

"I would never leave you behind, my darling. I love you too much. We could go away together, and both be free. We would never have to be afraid of them again. Isn't that what you want, too?"

Finally he nodded, tears still stinging his eyes. "But we can't," he said, sniffing. "Father won't let you go, and I can't free you. And even if I could, I'm not strong enough to protect us. Where would we go? How would we live?" He shook his head, shrugging, as he wiped away the tears. "We'll never be able to leave- they would never let us."

Ravyn brushed his cheek with her fingertips, knowing he was right, but still she could not lose hope. It was all she had ever had. "We must find a way, then. No matter how long it takes. Surely there must be some way. Your father is not immortal. What if something were to happen to him? He is gone so often, and so long, might he fail to return some day, perhaps? Or- perhaps you could even ascend to take his place…."

She did not know why she had suggested such a thing, but it was their way, after all, and she knew that in spite of his need to secure his own dynasty, Aldan feared that very thing more than he would ever dare admit.

The boy jerked away at her words, staring at her fearfully. "No! I- I couldn't. I can't… He's my father," he said quietly, a look of horror on his face. He knew what she was suggesting, and the very thought of it frightened him. He knew as well as she did that such was the way of things among his people, but he could not imagine ever daring to strike against his own father, no matter how much he might hate him. It simply was not in his nature to harm another, least of all his own kin.

"Forgive me. I should not even think of anything so terrible. What if we just- hid away on a ship, and escaped?" She asked. She shuddered. Had the evil in this place begun to affect her, too? What hope, then, did the young prince have of remaining untainted by it? None, surely, unless they could both escape, and soon.

He shook his head, frowning. "Someone would find us, and bring us back." He knew that his family hardly ever paid any attention to him, but they would surely notice if he went missing, and a slave along with him. As much as they ignored him, he was still important to the House, as the only heir to the Patron, not to mention for whatever skills he might one day contribute to its power.

"Then we shall have to think of some other way, my dearest heart. But for now, promise me that you will not go out into those tunnels. It is too dangerous. I don't want to lose you, little one. You are far too precious, my prince."

He scowled. "I have to. It's the only way I'll ever be strong enough to face them. And they're sending me away soon- this is the only chance I'll ever get to learn what's out there. I want to make my own choices, but they won't let me. Please, just let me do this, and don't tell anyone. I promise I'll be careful."

She finally sighed, and nodded. "I can't stop you, though I wish you would do as I ask. I've never asked for anything from you, but just this once, I beg you to think of what you are considering. No one would ever even find you if something happened. I could not bear to know you were out there somewhere, hurt, or…."

He nodded, but she could see from the serious look in his eyes that his mind was made up. "I know, but I know what I'm doing. I promise I'll come back."

She just shook her head ruefully, and gave him a sad little smile. "With such determination, I could almost believe you," she said, and reached out to hug him gently. "But if you truly must do this, please be careful, and don't be gone long. I do worry, you know. Now, it's late, so off to bed with you, my brave young knight."

He finally smiled, and hugged her back. "Thank you. I will. I love you," he said, and suddenly reached up to embrace her tightly. They held each other for several minutes, before she finally pulled away, and sent him off to his room. He ran all the way, anxious for the new day to begin, so that he could continue preparing for the next trip into the mysterious depths. Neither of them knew that a pair of violet eyes watched them invisibly from the shadows just outside the slightly open door.


	4. Chapter 4: Moonlight Lady

A-N: So glad to finally get some feedback on this! I was honestly wondering if I should just take it down, but lo, it seems that there IS some interest in my fantasy works, after all! Since this is set in a larger world, there are some thing that might be helpful to keep in mind. This tale is based in my own D&amp;D game world, which in turn is based on elements of several of my own favorite game settings, notable Forgotten Realms, Greyhawk, and Eberron, with bits of Ravenloft, Maztica, Al-Quadim, and Karatur thrown in. There's even some Dragonlance stuff here and there, so the world itself contains elements familiar to fans of all past D&amp;D settings. The most obvious similarity is my version of the drow race, which is primarily baced on Forgotten Realms lore (with my own twists and some fun new stuff added), as well as some of the most iconic creatures from that world and Greyhawk. Essentially, Anterris (or Asharra, as the planet is called- Anterris is the main continent) is my own "baby", created as a campaign setting for my own game groups in the past. It's a labor of love, and has taken YEARS to develop. Anyway, enjoy!

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Chapter 3: Moonlight Lady

A week had passed since the incident with Jezdin and the ritual in the temple, and still he woke each night in a cold sweat, wide-eyed and breathless from terror. He could not escape the image of the former _qu'el' m'elzar_ (House Mage) being transformed into a hideous arachnid monstrosity. He understood that what the perverted old sorcerer had done was wrong, but he wasn't certain if the crime he had committed warranted the harsh punishment that had been inflicted on him. In truth, he didn't know which was worse, the mage's offence, or his sentence.

He was determined to go back to Shelatchka's lair, if only to prove that he could face her again. Somehow, after all that had happened in those last few days, he was less afraid of her than he was of his own kind, for at least he knew where he stood with her- more or less. But after the past few days, he no longer trusted anyone around him but Ravyn. She was the only thing in his life that made sense, and the only person who understood him. He had meant what he told her; he wanted to see the sky and the trees of the world above just as she did, and he hated the dark confines of his home, where nothing seemed to matter but power.

Even knowing that her kindness had been motivated by her desire for freedom, he could not truly fault her, nor could he remain angry at her for it. He understood that she was afraid. Trust was a fragile thing, easily broken, and almost impossible to mend- he knew that now. Once gained, it had to be held carefully, lest it shatter. It was the same with hope. Of all those around him, only the elf woman had ever shown him respect, or listened to his own hopes and dreams. It didn't matter that she had wanted him to free her- she still cared for him as if they were family, and that was all he needed.

After nine days- a full week- spent in relentless training and study, he had decided it was time to try again. Even the House Mage's permanent absence was no excuse for neglecting his duties, it seemed, so he continued his more formal studies with Shiallin and Nalvir, still determined to face Shelatchka. The aranea awaited him out in the hidden tunnels, and he was eager to go back and show her what he was made of. Assuming she didn't have him for dinner, of course.

So after his lessons were over for the day, he ran to his room, where he had hidden the items he had taken from Jezdin's quarters and lab. He pulled out the small onyx tentacle wand, the invisibility ring, and a long sword that the sorcerer had intended to enchant, but still sat on his work table. Then he read through Jezdin's spell books until he was certain he knew by heart the words of the spells he had learned. When he had done all he could to prepare, he set out for the fissure in the far wall, running all the way in his eagerness to get away to his own private domain. He had already begun to think of those hidden tunnels as his, for no one else even knew they existed, so far as he could tell.

The way was easier the second trip through, for he now knew the path, at least as far as her lair. When he heard the dripping of water that signaled he was near, he pulled out the ring and put it on, activating it, then drew the sword. He had left his flute behind, afraid that it might get damaged in a fight. Instead, he had the wand, and he kept that ready, as well. He stepped silently into the small cavern, his gaze moving instantly to the web high above. As he had expected, she was there, sitting patiently in her spider form. He noticed with slight nervousness that there was a new cocoon in the web, the remains of her most recent victim.

He tread cautiously out into the cave, hoping he might slip by unseen. But no such luck was to be his, for he'd hardly gone three steps before he heard her voice. He looked up, and saw that she had taken her hybrid shape.

"Going somewhere, little man? I never expected to see _you_ again. Are you that eager to die?"

He froze, realizing she could still see him, in spite of the supposed protection of his invisibility. She must have been using darkvision of her own, he decided, and wondered why none of the books had mentioned it. He turned to face her as she descended on a thin strand of web.

"I don't want to fight you," he said, holding the sword out in front of him. "I'm not afraid of you."

"Really? How amusing. I still owe you for the last visit, you know. You're going to pay for what you did." She advanced, and he moved slowly toward the other end of the chamber. He had only a few spells, and he hoped they would be enough to keep her from killing him- even though none was especially useful as a defense. They were more for distraction than anything else.

"What _I_ did?! You tried to _eat_ me!" He exclaimed indignantly. She simply laughed.

"And what did you expect, little morsel, hmm? And now you come back, and think that I will not finish what I began last time? More fool, you."

At that, she lunged toward him, but he had his first spell ready, and cast it swiftly as he dodged her attack. He heard a satisfying shriek as his small light spell blossomed right in front of her. He had cleverly placed it directly on her nose, so that it would not only blind her briefly, but move with her, preventing her from seeing anything at all until she could dispel it. He ducked behind a stone pillar as she snarled out the words of a dispelling, knowing that her dark vision would now be useless against him. Then the cavern was plunged into darkness again, but he had already decided on his next spell. It was a risky gambit, to be sure, but he was confident that it would work.

"I am going to enjoy sucking the marrow from your bones, little elf!" She yelled out, looking around for him. Then he heard her call out a spell of her own, and he was suddenly pelted by several large, hard snowballs. He cried out in surprise, backing away from the area within the rain of frozen missiles. The snowballs hurt, but were more annoying than anything. He ducked around another tall stalagmite closer to the other tunnel, and chanted out his own spell before stepping back out from behind it, one hand held out in front of him. She spotted him almost instantly, but paused when she saw what was in his hand. A small sphere of bright golden flames glowed in his hand, and he held it out as if to throw it.

"Shelatchka! Don't make me use this- I'll throw it and burn down your web, or even at you, if I have to! I told you I don't want to fight you, I just want to see what's down that passage. Let me go in peace, and I won't have to hurt you!"

She looked from the young drow to the fireball in his hand, and suddenly became agitated. "You wouldn't dare," she said uncertainly.

"Try me." He cocked his hand back, ready to toss the flaming orb toward her. She paused a moment longer, then as if she had decided to call his bluff, she shot out a web toward him. He was ready for it, though, and tossed the ball straight at her nest, before ducking behind the spire again. She let out a shriek of fury as she saw the sphere hit her web with a small hiss; then the web seemed to blaze brightly as it apparently went up in flames. She did not realize the fireball had been illusory, and that in truth, he had simply caused the illusion to appear to burn the web, which was completely unharmed beneath the imaginary flames.

He saw the mass of web she had shot at him hit the ground, and used the distraction of the supposedly burning web-nest to levitate up to the ceiling, now that the cavern was lit again. He found a small crevice in the rocks between two stalactites, and squeezed into it. Then he cast a globe of darkness down at an area of the floor near where he had been, directly over a rather sharp spire rising up from the floor, reactivating his invisibility ring a moment later. He hoped she would think he was within, so he could come down on her with his sword.

The aranea looked around, fury in her dark eyes, and spied the globe. She grinned wickedly. "Think you can hide in there, little man? That will not work. I'm going to kill you slowly for what you just did." She stalked closer to the dark area, then suddenly seemed to hesitate. She looked around, and instead scrambled up the wall, climbing up to skitter across the ceiling. He gulped. Had she discovered his hiding place?

He was surprised when she moved directly above the globe, and suddenly dropped down into it. He was even more surprised to hear her suddenly scream from within. He cautiously slipped out of the crack he had been hiding in, wondering what had happened. The aranea continued to wail, and even began cursing angrily as well, though he could tell she was in some sort of distress.

Curious, he dropped slowly down to the floor, and let the darkness dissipate. What he found within was truly unexpected, though ironic. She had managed to partially impale herself on the stalagmite, and now she scrabbled helplessly as she sank lower down its length, thick ichor oozing from a wound in her abdomen just above her lower pairs of legs. Her head whipped about as she realized the darkness had disappeared, searching for him.

"What have you done?!" She cried in pain. "Please, don't kill me! I'm sorry I tied to eat you- just get me down from here!"

He winked back into view, and moved close to her, glaring at her coldly. "Why should I help you?" He asked bluntly. "You were going to kill me; I should just leave you there. It seems only fair, after all."

"I promise to leave you alone if you will just help me! Please!" She begged, tears streaming down her face now. She slipped down a little further, and moaned as the wound became larger. Lothir paused for a moment, considering. Should he help her, or just let her suffer? Then he remembered all the pain he had seen his family inflict on others, and felt ashamed for wanting to take revenge on her. His mother and the other priestesses enjoyed torturing victims before sacrificing them to their wicked goddess, or tormenting slaves who did not respond quickly enough to their demands. Even Morganna loved nothing better than to cruelly abuse anyone who displeased her. He refused to be like them.

"How do I know I can trust you?" He asked pointedly. He had already learned the dark lesson of betrayal, and that the people around him could not be trusted.

"I give you my word, I will not attack you again if you will get me off of this thing," she said, still struggling vainly to keep from sliding down further. The young drow paused a moment longer, then nodded.

"Alright, but if you go back on your promise, I'll kill you myself," he replied, and she saw from the look in his eyes that he meant it.

Then he gazed at the spike, wondering how to get her down. She was much too large for him to lift, even if he could levitate up to pull her up from above. He pondered the dilemma, then he suddenly remembered the sword in his hand. The spire was narrow, and formed of soft, brittle limestone- perhaps he might be able to break it. He held up the sword, and stepped closer to the stalagmite. The aranea saw the blade in his hands, and suddenly shrieked in fear.

"What are you doing?!" She cried. "You said you would help me!"

"And I will," he said calmly. "I have to break the spike- it's the only way to get you down. Just keep your limbs out of the way; I'd hate to cut one off by mistake."

Then he set the edge of the blade against the stone, high up where it was thinner and weaker, and swung back far to the right. He let fly with a mighty slash, and the sword bit deep into the stalagmite, breaking a chunk out of it and cracking the stone. He looked at it, and decided that one more good strike should do it. So he pulled back again, this time to the left. His next stroke took all the strength he had, and cut through the other side of the spire, to send it toppling over on its side, with Shelatchka tumbling down with it. She screamed as she hit the floor, but it couldn't be helped.

Quickly, the young dark elf rushed to her side, and grasped hold of the piece still impaling her. He pulled hard- so hard that he lost his balance and went flailing backward- and suddenly the stone spike was free. She glanced up at him, still lying prone on the cavern floor, holding her hands over the front half of the wound.

"There were some potions in my web," she gasped out. "Find one and bring it to me," she continued with a low moan.

He nodded. He ran over to the corner where it was suspended, still hung with the remains of her past meals. He looked up, wondering where they might be. Finally, he turned to glance back.

"Where are they?" He called out. He had seen no sign of any potions.

"They were in the packs of some goblins," she replied, looking somewhat paler than before. He nodded again, and shot straight up, floating just above the web's edge as he searched for the aforementioned goblins. Then he saw them, and quickly pulled himself along the wall until he came to them. He tore through the cocoons wrapped around them with the sword, then dug into the bags they carried. He pulled out two small bottles filled with a glittering red liquid, and swiftly pulled himself back out to drop lightly down below the edge of the nest. Then he raced back over to the fallen aranea, bottles in hand, and gave her one. She gulped it down quickly, then they both waited for the potion's magic to take effect.

They did not have long to wait. Almost instantly, the gaping wound began to close, growing smaller with each passing moment. She soon began to look stronger, and her color returned to normal. The drow heaved a sigh of relief. He did not know why, but somehow he was glad that she had not died, for he felt oddly guilty for causing her injury.

"Thank you, little elf. I am grateful. Now, what shall I do with you, hmm?" She rose, still wobbling a bit, and gave him a devious smile.

He backed away, suddenly wary again. "Y- You promised," he said flatly, though he had half-expected her to go back on her word. No one, it seemed, could be trusted. He held his blade up again, ready to face her.

She straightened, tilting her head to one side, staring at him almost thoughtfully. "So I did," she said, and suddenly laughed. "Well, then, you are quite the brave one, aren't you? Something has changed, I think. You could have killed me, or let me die. You did not. Why?"

He thought for a moment. "All I want is to see what's down there," he said, pointing to the far tunnel. "If I leave you alone, will you promise to do the same?"

She seemed genuinely surprised by his honesty, and perplexed by the single-minded determination of this most peculiar young drow. She studied him for a long time, then shrugged. "What is it to me?" She asked. "There is nothing down there for you but death, little man. There are far worse things in these passages than myself, you know. Hook horrors, carrion crawlers, and the like, mostly, but there are darker things, too. Oozes that will melt the flesh from your bones and leave nothing of you behind. Umber hulks, shrieker fungi, darkmantles. Even ropers and rust monsters like the one in my web. You would do well to forget going that way. Go home, little elf, before you get hurt."

He shook his head grimly. "I'm not afraid. I'm still going." He stared right up into her cold black eyes, then turned and calmly strode off toward the second tunnel. Shelatchka started to protest, then shook her head ruefully, sighing at the young elf's bravado. Let him learn, then. He would discover all too soon that those who wandered alone in the Underdark nearly always met a grim end.

Lothir paused at the exit, glancing back over his shoulder. "Maybe when I come back, I'll bring something with me. That way you can eat something besides me!" He grinned, then went skipping off into the darkness, singing a merry tune. The aranea only chuckled. _He's going to get himself killed down there_, she thought to herself.

He had traversed nearly a half-mile in the cool, dark passageway, when he came upon the first side-tunnel. It branched off the main tunnel on the right, leading deeper into the earth. The cool stone walls made seeing difficult, even with his dark-vision, for there was little heat to pick up, and the only magic he had left was his natural fairie-fire. He was unwilling to use it yet, for he wanted to save it in case he might need it later. In any case, he had nothing upon which to cast it except for the sword or himself.

The drow cursed himself mentally for not having thought to bring a light, though he knew that lights were dangerous, since they often attracted predatory beasts. He debated for a few minutes whether to take the side-path or continue through the larger shaft. At last, he decided to take the smaller passage. He marked it with a small piece of chalk he had brought along in a large pouch on his belt, then crept carefully down the narrow tunnel.

It snaked along for several hundred feet, winding through the dark. Then it ended abruptly, in what appeared to be a solid wall. He was disappointed at first, wondering why it should simply stop; then he noticed a small crack down near the bottom- a chunk of stone that had broken off and fallen into a hole beyond. It was too small to squeeze through, and even his head was too large to fit into the hole, but it was at least large enough to see what might lay beyond. He knelt down low and pressed his face against the edges of the hole, but all he could see was a large dark space, with no end in sight. The floor appeared to drop a few feet below, but continued on.

He began to tap at the edges of the hole with his sword, until he had broken off several chunks of stone. After a few minutes of prying and chipping, he finally had the hole large enough to slide through. He crawled on his stomach until he was beyond the opening; small objects poked up from below, jabbing him as he slipped through the gap. Then he got up and dusted himself off, looking around cautiously.

He sensed that he was in a large cavern, but it was too dark to see much more than a few feet away. He picked up a piece of rock from the hole, and tossed it out into the darkness; from the echo it made, he could tell that he was in a vast, domed space, which stretched at least a hundred feet. He could see the vague outlines of many protruding shapes covering the walls nearby like spikes jutting from a portcullis, in a multitude of sizes. Something crunched underfoot- the area of the floor near the hole was covered in some kind of hard, jagged rubble, with many small, sharp points beneath his feet. Further out, the floor smoothed into an almost flat, featureless surface, though it appeared to be slightly convex, rising somewhat toward the center.

He carefully stepped closer to the wall, and reached out to touch the nearest object; he was surprised to feel what seemed to be a long, hexagonal object with smooth, flat faces that met in a sharp point. It was nearly a foot long, and as big around as his arm. He pondered for a moment, then felt another one, which was similar, though much smaller. Every one he touched was more of the same, with some having fewer faces, but all were long and spike-shaped, or shorter and more blunted, yet still with the same basic shape. He had a flash of revelation- he was in a cavern whose walls were covered in crystals!

The young drow had a sudden urge to see more, so he used his innate power to create fairie-fire on the large crystal he had first touched. It lit up with a pale, silvery-blue radiance; he blinked as the brightness dazzled him for a moment, and then looked around again. The sight that met him almost took his breath away, for he found himself in a huge dome-shaped chamber whose walls and ceiling were completely covered in crystals of every shape and color imaginable. Most were various types of quartz- amethyst, rock crystals, and rose, blue, or smoky quartz- but he also noted beryl of green, yellow and even red hues, as well as several shades of spinels, topaz, and rough corundum.

He glanced down at the floor, and discovered that it was littered with broken crystals that had fallen from the ceiling, no doubt during earth tremors. However, the floor itself was one vast, smooth, glassy black surface, marred only occasionally by cracks or small round holes. The cavern was a gigantic geode, the bottom of which was an upwelling of volcanic glass that created a display of natural beauty unlike anything he had ever seen.

He stood staring in wonder for a long time, marveling at the amazing discovery he had made. There was no other entrance to the chamber, so he knew without a doubt that no one else had ever seen the cavern before. And he knew with certainty as well, that he would keep it that way. This was his own secret discovery, a place he could make his own, to practice his skills while remaining hidden from the eyes of his family.

On impulse, he bent down and picked up several of the fallen gems. He gazed down in wonder, realizing that this one handful alone was probably worth hundreds of orbben. He smiled to himself, and slipped them into his small belt-pouch before he finally decided to leave the cavern. Yet he would return soon, and the next time, he intended to bring his flute. He had noted the way the chamber had seemed to amplify any sound within, and wondered what effect it might have on the flute, if only he could figure out how to play it.

Some time later, he had trekked nearly a mile from the side-path when he came across another small side-tunnel. This one was too low to walk in, being just large enough to crawl through, and appeared to have been dug by some large creature, perhaps a young purple worm. He marked it, then cautiously ducked down to his hands and knees, slowly edging his way through the long worm-hole. The burrow-tunnel was cramped even for someone his own size. There was barely enough room to creep through without bumping his head; anyone larger would have had to slide along on their bellies, and even then they might have become stuck if their shoulders were very broad.

He slid along an upward slope for what felt like an eternity, before he finally saw a dim glow of light ahead. He grew more cautious, for lights usually meant one of two things- either a patch of luminescent fungus growing nearby, or the presence of intelligent beings. Either could mean trouble. Many creatures were drawn to such fungal growths, and predators often hunted the regions around them for prey, while most intelligent denizens of the Underdark were hardly to be considered friendly. He knew that the grey-skinned dwarves known as duergar, squid-faced illithids, and even worse beings dwelt in the vast reaches below the earth.

As he slid closer to the exit, he suddenly heard a sound from beyond. Voices- at least four of them- and the sound of many muted footsteps were approaching steadily. He inched further, the better to discover who or what was coming. Soon he was able to discern the harsh, low voices of five males, all speaking in drowish. Curious, he moved closer, until he could just see past the opening into a large, smooth-walled passage. At last he saw a small group of dark elven warriors- all males, save one- all in black chain mail or leather armor, approaching the hole with their long, camouflaged piwafwis trailing behind them. There were eight in all, the standard number of a patrol unit. He could see from the symbol emblazoned on the fronts of the ones in leather that they belonged to his own House.

He listened as the patrol came to a halt not far from the hole, which came out at a slight angle between the wall and floor. He wondered how far he was from home, and why no one had ever ventured through the hole, for they did not seem surprised to see it.

"We rest here for the night. Karas, you and Zedarr secure the perimeter. Hathmar, you are in charge of dinner. The rest of you, get set up." The lone female seemed to have taken it on herself to command the others, which was not surprising, since as she was the only cleric in the group, she had the most authority, whether the others wished to admit it or not. They seemed not overly happy with the arrangement, either, and Lothir could well imagine why. As members of the male-dominated First House, he was certain that it must grate on them to be under the command of a female. The first two nodded and began to do as ordered, while the third simply turned and pulled some supplies from an over-sized pack, hiding his sour look from the female.

"Mistress Varr'ga, should we not block off the worm-hole, in case something else should come out of it?" Asked one of the males, a grizzled older warrior with several battle scars.

"Aye, we've already sent four goblins in to see what's down there, and none of 'em ever came back." The one she had called Karas called back as he and another drow moved off to set up traps around the edge of the camp.

The young prince heard their conversation, and realized they were talking about the goblins he had seen in Shelatchka's web. Well, he thought, there was one mystery solved. The goblins must have wandered into her lair by mistake, either as part of their scouting task, or an attempt to escape into the Underdark. But there had been only two- what had happened to the others? He continued to eavesdrop from his spot within the hole, wondering what might have happened to the remaining goblins, and whether the patrol intended to send more scouts into the burrow.

"If there were any more worms, we'd have seen them by now, fool," snapped the priestess impatiently, while she dug out a small mat and a pair of candles and a spider-blade dagger. Lothir knew what that meant- she was preparing for the evening prayer ritual, to seek the Venom Queen's blessing for the coming day. He knew that the priestesses usually prayed for her favor and magic at what would have been sunset on the surface world, for it was considered the time when her power began to wax through the darkness of night. Drow were, as a rule, blinded by the harsh light of the sun because of their ancient curse, so they tended to prefer darkness and shadows. There were those who had become acclimated to the light of the sun due to spending long stretches on the surface as raiders, but they were the exceptions.

"Fine," answered the male, turning back to her, "but if another damned worm comes out of that hole, I'm feeding you to it." He glared at the female. Either he was oblivious to the danger of such a comment, or else he was confident enough in his own power that he felt he could be as insolent as he wished. He was wrong.

The priestess did not even bother to reply; she simply uncoiled the long scorpion-tailed whip at her side, and lashed at him with it, a vicious snarl of fury marring her otherwise attractive features. The whip stung deep into his arm, and the male let out a pained grunt, his other hand whipping out his short sword, even as the one she had struck went limp. He raised the sword to attack her, but the old warrior stepped between them, his own blade already in his hand, grabbing the female's arm as she swung back for a second lash, and brought his sword up to block the other male's blow- all in one swift move.

"Save your strength for the creatures of the Wilds, both of you. We need every arm we have for this patrol- or have you both forgotten that we are to ambush that duergar outpost that so foolishly settled in our territory?" He glared from one to the other, as if daring them to dispute his authority. Apparently, the two realized he was right, and both backed down.

"Very well, Valefyrr, but keep that idiot away from me. The next time he dares to speak to me that way, I will cut out his tongue and offer it to the Goddess!"

He nodded, and turned to the younger male with a hard stare. Karas blanched, and dropped his gaze, turning away to return to his task in defeat. His red eyes held murder, though, and it was clear that he would neither forget this humiliation, nor allow it to go unchallenged for long.

"Mistress Varr'ga, do heal his arm now. He will need it to complete his job." Valefyrr reminded the priestess. She started to retort, then saw the cold look in his amber eyes, and nodded. She turned back, and uttered a spell in a few harsh-sounding words; a pale, blue-green light shot from her up-raised hand to envelop the paralyzed arm of Karas, who simply made a small smirk of triumph with his back still turned to her. Lothir decided it would be a good time to leave, and silently began to crawl backward through the tunnel, away from the camp.

Going backward through the burrow was more difficult- and took even longer- than crawling forward had been. Eventually, he was able to exit the hole, and stood up to brush the loose dirt from his hair and clothes. Exploring the caverns was proving to be much dirtier work than he had thought, and he was fairly sure Ravyn would scold him when she saw the state of his clothes. His mother would probably do even worse. He made a mental note to carry a spare change of garments the next time, so that he would be clean when he returned from his forays.

After making a second mark above the burrow to indicate where it led, he decided to continue onward, although he knew it must be getting late if the patrol had decided to camp for the evening. He wondered just how far he had gone, for though the tunnels themselves had only wound a few miles from his home, distance in the Underdark could be misleading, with twists and turns that made the passages far longer than one might believe, and the tunnels often sloped up or down so that they might end up deeper or higher within the earth than where they began. With so many cracks and branching pathways, it was easy to become lost, and easier still to wind up in a region with no food or water. It was not unheard of for travelers to starve or die of thirst simply from taking a wrong turn and becoming hopelessly lost, before finally running out of provisions.

Still, even with such dangers, the young prince was enjoying the journey far too much to go back now. He would go a little further, then, and turn back as soon as he began to get too thirsty. At least he knew there was plenty of water in the aranea's lair, if it came to that. Perhaps there might even still be some usable rations in the dead goblins' supplies.

He had gone another half-mile when he found a small grotto, with a stream running through it and large patches of various fungi growing around it. He even saw a few of the rare, delicate glowing flowers known as cave lilies near the water. He noted that the stream cut through a large break in the far wall, rushing along on a slight down-slope toward another wide cleft in the wall near where he had entered, before trickling off into the darkness once more. He took a deep drink, then sat down for a moment to ponder the stream. It was small, clear, and cold, but the direction and slope made him wonder if it was connected to the one that flowed through the cavern of Argos Hall into the cove. Perhaps it was even the same stream, he mused, as he took off his boots and dangled his feet happily in the swift, cool water.

After a few minutes, he tugged his boots back on and examined some of the plant-life in the grotto. The luminous fungi glowed with soft blue and green light that made the rock formations appear to sparkle from the water that seeped down over them. The rocks formed strange and wondrous shapes along the walls and ceiling, flowing down in curtains, waves, sheets, or stone falls, with many long, thin stalactites and stalagmites in shades of pink, white, yellow, and blue, with a few bands of red or grey here and there. Many were carpeted with strange molds and lichens, moss, and mushrooms in bizarre colors or shapes. Bracket fungi made little stair-steps up miniature stalagmite castles, some of them glowing eerily to light gaps and hollows like tiny windows or doors. It was almost like a wondrous fairyland world.

The drow noticed a few small round mushroom caps near the stream, and bent to pick one, noting the soft, leathery texture of the brownish-white ball. Puffballs, he thought happily, and broke it apart, to find a spongy interior with a heavy, earthy scent. He finally tore a small piece off, tasted it cautiously, then decided it was indeed what he had thought, and popped the pieces into his mouth one after the other, munching on the chewy white balls contentedly.

At last he picked a few more, then proceeded further into the Wilds, through the long, wide fissure at the far end of the grotto. The stream was shallow, and cut a narrow groove through the middle of the crevice, leaving a smooth course on either side. He followed it for several hundred yards, until it opened up onto a large, wide tunnel, much like the one the patrol had passed through, though perhaps not as smooth or well-traveled.

He had almost forgotten about the conversation between the patrol members when he came upon a narrow cleft that ran up the side of the tunnel from floor to ceiling, glowing faintly in his darkvision from some distant heat source. In fact, the entire tunnel was much brighter than the crack he had left behind; the cold stream had left the winding channel so devoid of heat that everything had appeared almost black. Now he could see quite well, though he still needed his darkvision to do so.

He was cautious of such a fissure, however, for heat was usually accompanied by volcanic gasses and molten rock, another of the many dangers of life deep beneath the surface. Sudden quakes could open cracks into magma tubes, releasing deadly gas or blasts of heat that could cook a person in seconds. Even worse, magma pockets could bubble up and flood tunnels with red-hot, liquid death, or block off long-used tunnels, forcing creatures to find new passages that might not even be safe to traverse.

Yet the crevice itself was not what had attracted his attention; Lothir had almost been tempted to simply pass by, when he noticed a small pile of debris on the floor near the lower end of the crack. Curious, he moved closer, and soon discovered that it was a pile of bits of cloth and metal, along with a small rothe-hide sack, heaped carelessly as if someone had simply left their belongings there. A large, dirty white bowl-shaped object rested on top of the pile, with strange protrusions on the front, half-buried amid the rest. He cautiously poked the pile with his sword, but nothing happened.

Then he crouched down to get a better look, and tried to pick up the strange white object. It appeared to be caught on something, so he gave a hard yank, and heard something snap as the object came away in his hands. When he looked at it more closely, he suddenly yelped, tossing it away in startled disgust.

The thing rolled onto the ground, and stopped with the rounded side up. He found himself staring down at the grinning face of a flat-domed goblin skull, with bits of dried, rotted flesh still clinging to the nose and eye sockets. He stared at it for a moment, then moved toward the pile beside the crevice, poking it with his sword once more. He heard a rattling sound, and realized the heap was the remains of a goblin. But how had it died here?

He was still pondering that mystery a moment later, when he stepped back toward the fracture, and felt something touch his left leg, just above his boot. He barely had time to glance down before it gave a sharp tug, and he was swept off his feet by some kind of sticky thread thinner and stronger than any rope, and so colorless it was nearly invisible. Worse, it began to pull him toward the fissure, reeling him in like a fish on a line. He dropped his sword as he fell, and it clattered to the ground nearby.

The young drow struggled frantically, grasping and scratching at the cavern floor to try to pull away, but the filament was far too strong, and held him fast. He looked into the crack, and at last saw what held him. Perched just inside the cleft was a gigantic, insect-like creature with many legs, the front two of which ended in large pincers. It had a long, nearly flat body- nearly seven feet long- covered in bands of hard chitinous plates that overlapped, with a softer shell on its underside. Yet the most horrifying trait of the thing was its long, proboscis-like snout, that protruded above a pair of large, serrated mandibles. The sticky line extended from its long snout, and was quickly retracting back into it. He cried out in alarm, for he recognized it almost instantly. A cave fisher.

He felt the cave fisher's thread pulling him toward the crevice, dragging him across the floor to its waiting jaws. He tried to plant his feet, but to no avail, for the creature was larger and stronger by far. Desperately, he flailed about for something to keep it from pulling him in. One hand landed on the goblin skull; he grabbed it instinctively and threw it at the cave fisher, but the creature merely snapped at it with one pincer claw. It missed, and the skull bounced harmlessly off its shell. Then his hand closed on the sword, and he tried to hack at it as hard as he could.

He heard the creature let out a high-pitched screech, but the blade could not sever the line. Instead, it only seemed to enrage the beast; it darted out of the crevice, skittering on its spindly legs. He suddenly realized that the only way to keep it from drawing him into its jaws was to move toward the creature. So he scrambled to his feet, and rushed at the cave fisher. It did not know how to deal with its prey running at it, and the sudden slackening of its strand confused it even further. It finally released him, instead snapping at him with its pincers.

The drow jumped back, his sword-arm moving up to block the monster's attack. It thrust at him again, its pincers clacking loudly in the echoing tunnel, so he backed away. Then he saw the creature rear back slightly, and suddenly the long thread whipped out at him again. However, he saw it coming this time, and dodged aside in time to avoid being caught again. The sticky line shot past him, striking the wall behind him instead. The cave fisher struggled for a moment before it realized it had missed its target. While it was distracted, Lothir let out a yell of triumphant exultation, and rushed a few steps toward the monster, then suddenly made a mighty leap at the beast, landing atop its hard shell to stand in the middle of its back.

That made the cave fisher stop short- the prey was not supposed to be on its back! It tried vainly to snatch at him with its huge claws, but could not reach him there. Furious and frustrated, it began to buck to dislodge the drow; Lothir suddenly realized the precarious position he was in, and his grin of victory turned to a look of worry. He had managed to avoid its weapons, but now what? He would remain safe only until it managed to dislodge him from its back.

Thus, he did the only thing that he could think of- holding his blade above his head, point down, he drove it down at the cave fisher's back with all his might. There was a sickening cracking sound as it sank in deep. Then the creature let out a screech of agony and rage, and thrashed even harder. The young drow's feet slipped on the smooth plates of its back, but he gripped the sword's hilt tightly, hanging on for his life.

After a few moments, he managed to get his feet back under him, and hooked the toes of his boots under the edge of one of the plates. The monster continued to thrash wildly though, and it was all he could do to hang on. He tried to drive the blade in deeper, even tugging it back and forth, hoping to do as much damage as possible. Unfortunately, he had no idea what to do next, for he knew that he was only safe as long as he remained on its back where its pincers and trap-line could not reach him.

Then the cave fisher did the unexpected; it stopped thrashing, and crawled toward the cavern wall, where it began to climb straight up the side of the tunnel. The drow became even more anxious than before, for now he realized that it meant to make him fall off from his own weight. He pushed down with as much force as he could, and finally he heard a crunch as the blade opened the slit in its shell further. The cave fisher shrieked again and climbed higher, the noise echoing down the long passages. The split lengthened as it climbed, the sword's sharp edge and the boy's own weight serving to slide it further down the edge of the opening.

Unfortunately, Lothir had not counted on the creature's thick, greenish ichor spilling out of the crack in its shell to ooze around the edges of the opening. It left the chitin plates slippery, and the lengthening split in the shell was already causing the embedded sword to loosen. After a few seconds more, it had slid down nearly half the length of the creature's body; the beast's insides were fairly gushing out of the gaping wound now, making it nearly impossible to keep his footing.

Then it happened. The shell split even further with a sudden cracking sound, and Lothir found himself falling as the sword came sliding out of the huge wound, and he unexpectedly lost both his footing and his grip on the hilt. He flailed in mid-air as he fell, letting out a cry of surprise. He had a brief glimpse of the monster clinging to the wall as he tried to slow his fall with his power of levitation- tried, and failed, for his magical gift had been fully spent- then he struck the ground, lying on his back with the breath knocked from him, dazed from his head hitting the hard stone beneath. The next instant, he heard an agonized screech from the cave fisher- and it suddenly came tumbling down at him, having finally succumbed to the massive wound in its back. It landed up-side-down on top of the drow; he felt a moment of searing pain as something inside him cracked, and then he lost all thought.

Hours passed. When he finally regained his senses, the first thing that he was aware of was a sharp pain in his chest, and a throbbing ache in his head. The next was a huge, heavy object pressing down on him, and the cold hard stone beneath his back. He opened his eyes slowly, acutely aware that every breath sent agony through his chest. Worse, he could not move his head, for whatever pinned him also covered his head as well, so that the left side of his face was pressed against the tunnel floor. In fact, he could not move any part of his body except for his arms. The rest of him was completely immobilized by the cave fisher's huge bulk.

He tried to lift it, pushing up on the monster's corpse with as much strength as he could muster; all it accomplished was to send another jolt of agony coursing through him. The creature's body did not even budge an inch. He tried once more, hoping to roll it off, but it was far too large and heavy. At last he realized he was well and truly trapped. That frightened the young drow far more than his fight with the monster; unless he could somehow free himself from under it, he would die, either from starvation, dehydration, or from some Underdark scavenger.

Terrified of the thought of dying alone and helpless, he did the only thing he could. "Help!" He called, in spite of the pain that stabbed through his chest at the outburst. "Someone, anyone! Please help me!" He listened for a moment, but all he heard was his own echo. The tunnel was utterly silent and empty. He called out again, though tears stung his eyes from the agony. Still there was no answer.

He screamed for aid until he thought his lungs would burst, then kept yelling until his voice was too hoarse to continue. Eventually, he stopped yelling, and simply wept, now truly afraid. No one was coming to help him. No one knew or even cared where he was. The young drow cried until he was too weak to do even that. By then, all he could do was stare at the wall of the tunnel a few feet away, silently praying to whomever would listen that someone would find him before it was too late.

Several hours had gone by, and the cocky little dark elf had not returned. Shelatchka found herself glancing back at the tunnel he had taken, for perhaps the fifth time in the past hour. Not that she was worried about him- far from it. She told herself that she was simply waiting for her next meal to wander into her lair, or perhaps curious to know what sort of trouble he might have gotten himself into. She was quite certain he must be lost or dead, to have been gone so long.

She caught herself staring again, and shook her head, letting out a heavy sigh as she paced back and forth in her dark elven form. She should simply leave him to his fate, she knew- still, she could not help being a little amused by the young dark elf's display of bravado, or his clever use of magic. She was not particularly malicious; in truth, despite what the young drow might have thought, she was not truly evil. Neither did she bear him any true malice or ill will. Her first attack against him had been nothing personal, being motivated by hunger more than any real desire to kill.

Even so, she could not help feeling a bit guilty for letting him leave, and a little distressed at the thought of losing her first intelligent visitor. After all, most of her "guests" were hardly intelligent enough to hold a conversation with, being little more than animals. To have a companion to keep her company…. The aranea sighed, realizing she was lonely. She continued to pace for a few minutes more, silently debating with herself. Should she go after the foolish boy?

Of course she knew he was probably already some monster's meal, but she also knew that the stubborn and impetuous youth was the closest she had ever come to finding a mate. If he survived, perhaps in a few years? At last she shook her head, dismissing the thought, and made a decision- she would go find him, and hope he was still alive when she did. Shelatchka turned, and changed to her spider form, stalking off into the dark tunnel after the drow.

Lothir didn't know how much time had passed; he was still pinned beneath the dead cave fisher, staring out from under its huge mass at the floor and a part of the tunnel wall in the utter silence of the passage. But then he heard a sound; something shuffled along through the corridor, coming toward the dim light the crevice gave off to his heat-sensitive vision. Whatever it was, it was large. It made a soft noise like many feet stepping lightly. He knew it was only one creature- or possibly two, since the noise seemed to echo in a slightly different cadence- for though it sounded like many feet, the steps were in a precise order and tempo that suggested the gait of a many-legged creature, rather than several individuals. He wondered what it might be- some new horror come to finish him off? As it turned out, he did not have long to wait to find out.

When he saw the thing that made the sound, he gasped in renewed fear. A three-foot grub-like beast with a thick green hide, many small, padded feet, and a toothy maw with a pair of large mandibles and several long tentacles beneath it came crawling toward the carcass. He nearly gagged from the smell of rotted flesh that emanated from the thing, as its eyes waved about on small stalks above its head, as if searching for enemies. When it found no threat, it began to move toward the corpse, its mouth-parts clicking together hungrily. It was a young carrion crawler, not even half-grown. They were scavengers of the Underdark that fed on anything they could find or kill, with paralyzing venom in their long mouth tentacles. He gulped, knowing his situation had just become even more dire. If even one of those slimy appendages touched him, he would be unable to move at all, doomed to a slow, agonizing death from which there would be no escape.

He froze, hardly daring to breathe. The carrion crawler started slurping at the oozing fluids from the carcass, its tentacles waving about randomly as it fed. He watched in terrified silence as the scavenger slowly devoured its meal. He looked about frantically for his weapon, but he could not see it. He had been holding it when he fell, but the blade had been knocked out of his hands when he struck the ground, and now lay on the opposite side of the dead monster. With his head pinned to the left, he could not see that it lay just inches from his right hand. In any event, the sword was on the wrong side to do him any good against the carrion crawler.

Then he heard another sound coming down the tunnel, very much like the first. He strained to see what it was, and stared in horror as he saw another of the long-bodied crawlers approaching the cave fisher's corpse. It saw the first one, and made a hissing noise; the first crawler reared up, pausing in its feeding as it turned to ward off the intruder. They both hissed at each other, and for a moment the young drow thought they would forget the carcass entirely in their squabble. Such was not his luck, however. The newcomer finally backed off, moving past the first one to take a spot on the other side of the cave fisher, and both settled down to feed.

As if his straits were not dire enough, the drow felt something wet brush against his feet where they poked out from under the dead monster's bulk- then his legs went numb. He was vaguely aware of the crawler's tentacles sliding over his legs a few times, but could feel nothing. For all he knew, it might already be devouring his feet, and there would be nothing he could do to prevent it. Fear gripped him, as he wondered how long it would be before the two scavengers finished off the cave fisher and started in on _him_. His only good fortune was that the corpse was more than large enough to feed both carrion crawlers for some time. Perhaps if the venom wore off, he might eventually be able to push the dead monster off himself, once they had devoured enough of it. But he doubted he would get the chance.

Several more minutes passed while the creatures continued their grisly meal. Lothir watched in fascinated horror; never had he seen such creatures alive, and never had he thought to see one so close. After a while, he heard a new sound echoing down the corridor, a clicking noise like claws on the hard stone. Certain that yet another fearsome beast had arrived, he said a silent prayer, hoping that by some miracle he might live.

It was only when he heard the strange chittering that he realized it was coming from down the other end of the passage- the same way he had come. That puzzled him, for he knew that he had not passed any other creatures that way. What could be making it?

Then he heard a strange crackling noise, followed by the intonation of ancient words in some eldritch tongue. The voice was vaguely feminine, yet with a harsh quality that he barely recognized. Yet it was somehow familiar, too. He realized that someone was casting a spell, and one that he thought he knew. Sure enough, he heard a new sound of something- no, several things- streaking through the air. There was a brief flash of light, a loud sizzling and screeching, and then something large and heavy thudded to the ground.

He waited to discover what was happening, and suddenly saw something flash downward at the carrion crawler near him. It gave a loud shriek that echoed through the passage, and its head suddenly fell off, severed neatly. He looked up as far as he was able, and saw that the end of his own sword had sliced off its head. A moment later, he saw a pair of small, black-skinned bare feet stepping close to the side of the dead monster pinning him.

He glanced higher, and saw that the feet connected to a rather shapely pair of equally nude legs, which met a pair of voluptuous hips, and…. He could not see the rest, but from his vantage, he had a very good view indeed of an attractive and curvaceous lower half. In fact, it looked extremely familiar.

"Ah, so there you are, little morsel. I told you there was nothing but trouble for you down here, did I not?" Said a sultry voice, with just a hint of amusement. The legs bent, and suddenly he could see the aranea crouching before him, leaning forward with her head cocked to one side, smirking at him.

The young drow almost shouted with relief. Instead, he just grimaced, pretending not to care. "I'm still alive, aren't I?" He gasped out matter-of-factly, in spite of the pain in his chest. Still, he knew that if she had not come when she did, he might soon have been dead. "Besides, I did kill the fisher," he shot back, a touch of pride in his voice.

Shelatchka tossed her head back and laughed outright. "That you are, little elf. But you are fortunate that I came looking for you, else you'd be food for those crawlers now. You were lucky." She shrugged, and began to rise.

"Wait!" He exclaimed, afraid she might leave. "Could you- help me? Please?" He asked, wincing through the pain of trying to speak.

"Why should I help you?" She asked, using his own words from earlier. "It would be a pity to let a little morsel like you go to waste." The boy's stomach sank. Was she simply going to let him die?

"Be- Because I helped you," he finally answered. "Fair is fair, is it not? And I found you something to eat, just like I said," he finished weakly.

She stared at him for a long moment, then finally laughed again. "So you did, foolish boy. Very well, I suppose I do owe you a small favor. But do not think that I am doing this because I care. It simply suits me to keep you around a bit longer, for amusement." She gave him an indifferent wave, then she shifted to her spider form, and he watched as she grasped the edge of the cave fisher's shell with her humanoid arms, then her two front pairs of legs pushed up beneath it as the hands lifted, shoving the dead hulk over until it rolled off.

The drow winced, stifling a moan as the bulk was lifted off of him; then he was free, though he still could not move. He lay prone, relieved and grateful for her aid. When she attempted to lift him, he let out a sharp yelp, causing the aranea to pause in poorly-disguised concern. She changed to her drow form and knelt down beside him, her brow furrowed, a frown on her beautiful features.

"What is it _now_?" She asked impatiently.

"I- It hurts," he said, wincing. "I can't move…" He grimaced, for his chest burned, and his legs were still numb from the carrion crawler's venom.

Shelatchka sighed. "Then perhaps I _should_ just leave you…" She began, only to have the drow reach up to grab her arm.

"No! Please, don't-" He was trying not to cry, though every move brought pain, and his nerves were frayed from the ordeal.

The aranea only chuckled. "Of course not, silly boy- I was teasing you. But I will have to move you somehow, as I did not bring any of my potions with me." She said matter-of-factly. She felt beneath his gore-covered tunic, and heard his sharp gasp when she touched his chest. "Hmm, you've broken some ribs. One, two, three… four. Five? My, it's a wonder you did not pierce a lung. You really should not have come out alone."

"I'm- not a boy, I told you." Lothir protested, annoyed by her condescending attitude in spite of the pain. "Can't you just use my name? It's insulting." He said irritably, glowering at her. She glanced at him sharply, but finally sighed and shook her head.

"My, aren't _we_ presumptuous? Do you think to order me about like one of your servants? Your Matron would be appalled." She chided him, clucking her disapproval. "But I suppose it would not hurt, little prince. Now, how shall we get you back to my home, hmm?"

Lothir thought for a long moment, knowing he could never make such a trip back in his current condition. He ignored her snide remark, not really caring if she thought he was being pushy. Then it dawned on him- hadn't there been a travel bag with the goblin corpse by the crevice? "Look- by the crack," he said, each breath making him want to cry. "Goblin- it had a sack. Check for a potion?" He pointed to it, so she would see what he meant.

Shelatchka looked toward the crevice, and saw the pile of remains. In a flash, she rose and leaped over to it, snatching it up quickly, and began to dig through it even before she returned to the young dark elf. Soon, she smiled triumphantly, and brought out a small bottle of deep red liquid. It was nearly identical to the one she had quaffed earlier.

She pulled out the stopper, and tilted his head up so he could drink. He downed it in two quick gulps, then she settled back to wait for it to take effect. In seconds, she could hear the peculiar grating sound of the bones knitting back together, as he hissed in pain, for drow healing potions were not meant to ease suffering, only to mend the wounds that caused it. Soon enough the potion had done its work, and he was finally able to raise up on his elbows, looking half-dead from the gore that covered him from head to foot, but whole once more.

"There, now we can return to my nest," she said, rising. She moved over to one of the dead crawlers, and changed to her hybrid form. "After I wrap up a few snacks to take home, of course," she continued, and began to calmly web up the first carrion crawler.

"Uh- there's just one problem," he said after a moment. "I can't walk," he said, pointing to his feet. Though the potion had healed his injuries- even the lump on his head- it had done nothing for the numbness of his legs, since it was merely an effect of the crawler's paralyzing venom. That would have to wear off on its own.

Shelatchka glanced over as she continued webbing up the dead scavenger, and sighed. "Wonderful. I suppose you are expecting me to carry you, then? Never mind, don't answer, of course you are. Fine. But you are fortunate I'm in a generous mood, or I would tell you to get back on your own. If you hadn't provided me such a marvelous feast…" She shrugged, letting the threat trail off.

Lothir sighed, and rolled his eyes as he sat up, though his feet were still unresponsive. He had already decided she was bluffing. He watched as she wrapped up the second crawler- severed head and all, and then moved on to the cave fisher. He gaped as she began to deftly cover the remains in a tight cocoon. How in the Abyss did she expect to carry them all back?

He puzzled over that for several minutes, until she was done. Then she shifted back to her huge spider form, and picked up the goblin's pack with her small arms, handed it to him, then used the arms and her front pair of legs to carefully lift him onto her humped back. When he was settled, she shot a thick strand of web to each of the dead monsters, and gathered them all up into a bundle. Then she turned and began to scuttle back down the corridor, dragging the carcasses along behind her.

The young drow was amazed; he had forgotten that araneas- and all spiders, for that matter- were incredibly strong, able to lift or drag very heavy loads that were often many times their own size. Finally, he shook his head in awe, and grinned, leaning back to enjoy the ride back to her lair. He had never ridden on a spider before; his family's soldiers kept a pen of them in the fort at the entry tunnel, along with the stable for the riding lizards, but he had never actually worked up the nerve to try to ride one. It was almost fun, if one ignored the short bristly hairs that poked up. He decided that perhaps the aranea might not be so bad, after all.

An hour later, he had finally said his farewell to Shelatchka, promising to visit her again- she had tried rather unsuccessfully to hide her pleasure at the prospect- and ran back down the long passage to the fissure that led home. He was still covered in dried, sticky cave fisher ichor, and he knew he was going to be scolded for getting so filthy if anyone saw him. Thus, he made a point of diving into the cove- clothes and all- before he approached the House compound, hoping to wash off as much of the gore as possible. He had no idea what time it was, only that it was late. He only hoped he would have time to eat and bathe- and possibly get some sleep- before his morning lessons.

He was just sneaking into his room, having levitated straight up to the window, as before, when he heard a distinctly annoyed sound of someone clearing their throat impatiently. He cringed, and turned to see who had caught him sneaking in. He was both relieved and remorseful to find Ravyn sitting on his bed, waiting for him.

"Where have you been?!" She asked, frowning. "Do you have any idea what time it is? The morning meal is only an hour away! And what in Elrinya's name is that on your clothes?" She asked, aghast. "You are fortunate your mother never noticed your absence, or you would surely be in for it now."

Lothir looked down, shame-faced. "I was exploring, and lost track of time. I'm sorry- I didn't mean to worry you," he said, though he knew it was a lame excuse.

"You did not answer my question," she said pointedly. The boy sighed, and shrugged, realizing he was well caught.

"I killed a cave fisher," he said meekly, hoping to make it seem like a small matter. In truth, he had never been more terrified, yet he could not help feeling a bit of pride, too. Fighting a creature as dangerous as the fisher was no simple feat. Even many full-fledged warriors could not defeat one alone, yet he had not only killed it, but had even managed to bring back a small trophy of his victory, in the form of a talon from one of its feet.

"You _what_?!" She exclaimed, shocked. Ravyn could not believe what she was hearing. Yet again the lad had gone out and gotten into some sort of trouble. He did not admit it, but she suspected that he had been in mortal danger, and had very nearly died. If the state of his clothes was anything to go by, it had been a fierce battle.

"Don't worry," he said hastily, "I'm fine. It was just a bit- messy, that's all," he tried to shrug it off, and gave her a weak smile, but he could tell by her stern expression that she saw right through his bluff.

"Really?" She asked, one thin black brow rising in disbelief. He hung his head, and she knew she was right. Something had happened during the hours he had been gone, that he was afraid to tell her.

"Well, maybe it was a _little _dangerous," he amended. "It fell on top of me when I killed it. I had to wait for Shelatchka to come find me,"

Ravyn frowned. "Shelatchka?" She asked, puzzled. He had forgotten to tell her the aranea's name.

The drow nodded vigorously. "Yes- the aranea; she helped me! She even killed a pair of crawlers that were attracted by the dead cave fisher. I guess we're friends now, since I saved her life. You should have seen her stuck on that stalagmite- it would have been funny if she wasn't hurt so bad! She looked like a spider-ka-bob!" He choked off a laugh, in spite of himself, at the memory of the aranea flailing helplessly on the spike.

"I think you should tell me just what you've been up to, young master, while I help you get cleaned up." Ravyn said sternly, and his grin faltered. He looked away, and sighed again, as she pulled fresh clothes from his wardrobe. He took a deep breath, and began to tell her all that he had done. By the time he had finished his tale- and his bath- it was time for breakfast. Ravyn scolded him for getting into danger, as he had expected, but he knew that she was secretly impressed with his accomplishments. Even her ire and worry had not been enough to dampen his feeling of pride in defeating two foes in one day. He spent the rest of the day in renewed dedication to increasing his skills, until he was too tired even to practice or study any more. He was happy to have achieved so much, yet grateful when sleep finally came.

The next few weeks passed quickly. Lothir spent his days in constant honing of his skills, reading, and learning everything he could. His evenings were spent in the secret tunnels of his own private domain, as he now thought of it. He visited Shelatchka frequently, sometimes bringing her news of what was happening at home- most of which involved his mother's constant harping about one thing or another, Morganna's continued terrorizing of everyone outside the family, and the occasional battles fought by the patrols with encroaching duergars or sahuagin.

His visits with her were always brief, however, for he spent most of that time silently slipping through the winding passages and caverns like a shadow. He had learned how to hide and to move with almost no sound at all, in order to avoid some of the most dangerous beasts in the wilds. Once, he had come upon a cavern full of deepbats, and had used several stones to distract them so that he could pass through unharmed. Whenever he came across a new tunnel that he had not been through, he would mark it, and proceed cautiously in, always searching for some new wonder to explore.

Yet he always returned to the geode chamber. It had become his own special place, where he could practice playing his flute in secret, as he slowly discovered how to use it. The hardest part had been learning how to form the notes, and how to use the stops to change the sound. Once he understood how it worked, though, he had taken to experimenting with different sounds, stringing random notes together to learn the various finger positions. After the second week, he had memorized nearly every combination of positions well enough to begin playing simple tunes. He still had not learned what sort of magic it held, but at least he was getting there.

After the first few days, he had taken his hidden cache of treasures from the cove and the vaults- as well as the things he had taken from the mage's lab- and hidden them all in the crystal cavern. He brushed away the broken crystals from the floor, and used the wide empty space to practice with his sword. It was becoming easier every day to lift and swing the weapon, in spite of its size in his hands. Eventually, he even began to include his kukri in the exercises, slowly improving both in strength and skill. Even Nalvir had begun to notice the change, though of course he believed it was due to his own instruction.

Three months had passed since his battle with the cave fisher, and in that time he had fought several other monsters. He discovered a small darkmantle on one foray, and another had led him to a den of dire rats. The darkmantle had proven difficult to fight, being large and able to fly. In the end, he had tricked the beast into flying into its own globe of darkness, where he had waited with his sword and kukri pointed straight up as it tried to land on his head to suffocate him. The creature had skewered itself on his blades, leaving him once again covered in a bloody mess, but unscathed except for a few small bruises where its tentacles had tried to latch onto his arms.

Then one day he was reading in the library, and came across a small tome bound in dark blue leather, with the title written in silver letters in elven script. That in itself was not so unusual, as there were many books written in elvish among his father's collection. But what drew him to it was the symbol on the cover- a familiar-looking sword on a circle with swirls around it. He recognized it instantly as the same symbol as the amulet he had found. Excited, he read the words on the cover again. _Hymns of the Moondancer_. He opened it cautiously, somehow knowing that the book was holy. Hymns? He had never heard of any Moondancer, though he vaguely knew what a moon was from his cosmology lessons with Jezdin. Was this a book about other gods? That other deities existed, he knew, but their worship was strictly forbidden within the House by his mother. Only Aldan himself followed any other deity than Lothrenya, and his mother seethed bitterly at that affront.

As he sat poring over the many songs, a strange feeling began to come over him. It took some time before he knew it for what it was. Hope. The words stirred something inside him that had never been given a name before. Who was this Moondancer? Why did the songs speak to him so? "Come to the Lands Above, come dance in the moonlight and find your true place," one song said. He wondered- could he? What was the surface world like? He did not know anything of dancing, but somehow he found himself wanting to do as the song said. Suddenly his mind was awhirl with questions, and none of them seemed to have answers. The drow sat going over the hymns again and again, committing them all to memory, before he tucked the book inside his tunic and took it with him out into the wilds to hide in his sanctuary.

Two weeks passed, and he had nearly forgotten about the book, when he came upon a tunnel that he had never seen before. He was far from the tunnels he knew well, having only recently worked up the courage to explore a chimney that led into still more winding passages and caves. He had come across a chasm that ran through a wide cavern that held a colony of myconids- strange, intelligent mushroom people. The chasm ran through a deep, wide crack in the cavern wall, and disappeared off into the darkness, with no end in sight. A large stalactite had fallen across the chasm, forming a natural bridge to the other side, where a small stream rushed into the gap, falling for hundreds of feet before continuing on its way. A large, smooth round passage led out of the other side, the long-forgotten burrow of a huge purple worm.

He had been afraid to cross at first, worried that the rock bridge would crumble if he tried to walk on it. But at last he steeled himself, and cautiously inched his way across. He was relieved to find that it held him easily. He continued on, wondering where the path would lead him. As it happened, he did not have to go far to find out.

The burrow ended abruptly in a large grotto which held a deep, clear spring surrounded by a large patch of moss, lichens, and various fungi, as well as cave ferns, deepstar blossoms, and giant mushrooms. Small fish swam in the pool, which he decided must connect to a larger body elsewhere. Another huge burrow led away from the cavern, while a smaller passage ran off to the right. After a brief pause, he decided to take the smaller one.

The small passage wound for a fair distance- perhaps a mile or so- gradually leading upward. As it wound its way through the earth, it progressively became smaller, until at last he was forced to crawl through it. The young drow had just begun to consider turning back when the tunnel simply ended. A huge pile of rubble blocked the path, preventing any further progress. He looked around, wondering whether he could dig though it, but decided against it when he found that the walls were soft. In fact, he suddenly realized that they were no longer made of solid stone, but earth and soil. A small shaft of light shone down from the ceiling near the end, half concealed by strange tendril-like things that hung down from the ceiling.

He looked up, and discovered that the light came from a small hole in the ceiling amid the tangled mass. There were several large stones surrounding the opening, with more scattered about on the floor, and embedded in the walls. A small hollowed out area against the wall near the cave-in had once been the dug-out nest of some creature, as evidenced by the large depression in the floor. Earth and debris had been pushed up around it, and he saw bits of fur lining the hollow. Not far away, there were several old, half-chewed, dried bones with teeth marks in them, most of which had come from large rodents, by the look of them. The air smelled strange; he knew the smell of soil, and the musty scent of old death, but there was another odor in the air, coming on a slight breeze from the hole. It smelled like water and mushrooms- and something else.

It was clear that he was in a den of some sort, that had been invaded and partially collapsed long ago, yet he worried that whatever had dug the small den might return. He had noticed several sets of strange tracks in the hollow, suggesting that the former inhabitants had four legs and relatively small feet with short, sharp claws. He judged that they must have stood about three feet tall, and had been covered with grayish-brown fur. Several sets of smaller tracks much like the others suggested that there had been young present. However, whatever had burrowed through here had been large enough to have possibly eaten all of the den's inhabitants. He wondered what manner of creatures had made the den; some kind of carnivores, surely, by the look of the gnawed bones, though he knew of no creature that made four-toed prints with rounded centers. After several more minutes spent pondering the mystery, he decided to investigate the hole from whence came the strange scent. He approached the long, thick tendrils near the hole warily, for in the Underdark, even mushrooms sometimes moved and attacked. The things were not unlike the thin roots of the giant mushrooms in the grove near his home, but were much thicker, and covered with some rough, hard outer layer.

He poked one with his sword; nothing happened. So he began to climb up, pulling himself up to the opening. He slipped out of the top onto something soft and fuzzy; he glanced down, and found himself sitting in a bed of moss. However, this moss was not the pale, grayish stuff he was used to- it was bright green, like an emerald from the vaults beneath Argos Hall. He looked around, and discovered that he had come out into a grove of huge plants bigger than even the tallest giant mushrooms, with long, wide arm-like structures that branched out into many small, flat green things. Everywhere he looked, there were shades of green. The ground beneath his feet was soft and springy, with even more green things sprouting here and there. Strange rope-like things with green foliage wound around the larger hard-bodied plants. Even more amazing was that some of the growing things had flowers, much like the pale cave lilies he had seen so often before, but in colors and shapes he had never imagined possible.

Then he looked up. The sight that greeted him nearly took his breath away. High above, far beyond even the tops of the gigantic plants, was a vast open space of velvet black, studded with tiny twinkling lights. In the distance, he could see two much larger lights, one huge, round, and white, the other smaller, grey, and half-concealed by a dark shadow. Dark grey billows like gigantic banks of smoke drifted across the expanse, gathering overhead to slowly obscure the lights. The young drow gasped in awe, for he realized that he was looking at the sky.

He had heard of the twinkling lights and great orbs of light before, yet never had he dreamed they would be so bright- or so beautiful. A dozen tiny sounds came from every direction, soft chirping noises, deeper croaks, and even a few distant howls that sent a slight shiver up his spine. He searched for the source of the noises, but found only a few small insects and some sort of small soft-bodied creatures with warty skin, bulging eyes, and webbed feet. He laughed, suddenly excited for no reason he could explain, and began to feel around of the many strange plants, touching them, taking in their textures and colors as if they might disappear at any moment. He was surprised to discover that it was the blooms that made the sweet, heady scent he had noted earlier; once he realized this, he was eager to sniff them all, marveling at their varied fragrances.

Then he heard a low, soft rumble, and paused. He had never seen clouds before, and knew nothing of weather; so it came as a surprise when a bright, blinding light flashed across the sky, followed by a sharp crack of booming noise. He ducked behind the nearest large plant- a tree, he thought it was called- and peeked around it, expecting some great dragon or other monster to come sweeping down at him. Instead, he was surprised to feel large drops falling from the air, a few at first, then thousands of them. Water from the air itself? He was completely baffled, as the light rain fell upon the forest- for that was what he found himself in.

Lothir laughed again, happily basking in the cool rain, and soon spotted a narrow trail that wound off into the forest. He decided to follow it, wondering what other wonders the surface world held. Would he see one of the many strange creatures from his books? As he walked, the gentle sound of the rain seemed to comfort him, lending a sense of peace to the shadowed forest. Somehow, he knew that he was safe here- he could not explain it, but he was certain that no harm would come to him in this place.

After a while, the rain slowed and finally stopped, and the clouds parted to reveal the two lights once more. Moons, he realized, searching his memory for the name of the lights. They were Anterris' moons, and the smaller lights were stars. He frowned briefly, for he seemed to recall that there were three moons. Yet he had seen only two. He concentrated for a few seconds, trying to remember their names. Semerrya was the white one, he recalled, while the smaller was Brakis. And Crinos- that was the smallest one, the one called the Dark Moon because it was only visible when seen by day or when it passed in front of one of the others.

He was still wandering silently along the trail when he heard a new sound nearby, coming from above. It was a soft, mournful hooting; he froze, looking up quickly toward the sound. On a low branch of one of the trees, sat a large white creature with a round, flat-faced head, a small sharp beak, and a body covered in soft fluff, with two large clawed feet that clung to the branch easily, balanced perfectly on the narrow, round surface. It shook its body, sending droplets of water flying, and spread a pair of wings that had previously lain flat against its sides. The creature turned its head to stare at him with large round eyes, blinking, and made a soft chirp, fluttering its wings briefly before it dropped off the branch, and swooped down over his head to land on a stump a few feet away.

The creature bobbed its head at him, then turned it until it was nearly up-side-down, blinking again, then turned it back upright, and chirped once more. Puzzled, he took a few tentative steps toward the strange animal. It fluffed up and began to preen beneath one wing, as if it was ignoring his presence. He moved slowly toward it, one hand out, until he was only an arm's length from the winged creature. As if finally acknowledging his nearness, the avian turned its head inverted again, and hopped closer on the stump.

He held out his hand to it, and it hooted softly, blinking up at him with those wide golden eyes. He touched its downy chest, and marveled at the sensation, for it was softer than anything he had ever felt. It fluffed its wings, and took off, circling above him before flying silently down the path. Curious, he followed, wondering how a wild creature could appear so tame, as if it knew he meant it no harm. Or was it something more?

A little further on, the narrow trail widened out, with tangled undergrowth along the edges, drooping with large pink or white many-petaled blooms, and a carpet of moss and soft earth. As he followed the avian, he soon heard a new sound- one that he knew well. He heard a woman singing a sweet, joyful melody, in a high, pure voice more beautiful than any he had heard before. The voice drew him on, as if some part of him needed to be near the singer. He knew, though he could not say how, that he had heard that voice before. But that was impossible, wasn't it?

As he continued, the trail soon ended at a large clearing, carpeted with flowers, surrounded by tall, majestic trees. A large pool in the center reflected the light of the two moons, and a large white, flat-topped stone rose up near the water's edge. The water was dotted with floating plants with large white blooms, and the trees were draped with more of the rope-like things with pale blue blossoms. Everywhere the scents pervaded the air, wafting to him on the gentle breeze.

Yet he noticed all this almost as an afterthought, for in the middle of the clearing was a tall, beautiful female drow, with long silvery hair that fell to her feet- and she was moving about with a long, slender silver sword in her hand, waving and swinging it around in a series of complex moves that were as inspiring as they were deadly. Even more amazing, was that she was wielding it while completely nude, the moonlight gleaming off her smooth onyx skin, her feet as bare as the rest of her. He gasped in awe, amazed by her serene beauty and grace. He drew closer, entranced by the song and her strange dance with the sword.

The woman seemed oblivious to his approach, but he sensed that she knew he was there. In fact, as the winged creature swooped and circled over her, then landed on the stone, he realized that she had known he was near all along- the avian had led him to her. It was then that he heard the voice in his own mind.

_Come, my child. I have been waiting for you_, it said gently, and he had to fight the urge to weep for joy at the warm feeling that rose up inside at her mental touch. He took a few steps closer, afraid that he was imagining her. _Do not be afraid_, she whispered in his mind, even while she continued to sing. She danced with such grace and lightness that not a single leaf or flower was crushed beneath her tiny feet.

"Who are you?" He asked, pausing in the clearing, near the stone. The woman's laughter tinkled in his head like tiny bells, silvery and sweet. He watched almost breathlessly as she twirled and kicked and leapt about, her sword flashing with the reflected moonlight.

_You know me_, she said. _You have always known me. Did you not wonder why your heart was so different from all the others? I am there. I have called to you, and now you have come_. She whirled and leapt, pirouetting around him as he came nearer, and he felt the barest whisper of the flat of her blade touching his cheek. Yet he did not flinch, somehow sensing that she would never hurt him. He heard her light laughter in his head again, and smiled hesitantly.

"Moondancer…" He whispered; she smiled back, and swiftly stopped her dance, standing before him with her sword held straight up above her head. Long silvery tresses swirled around her for a moment before falling down around her, to cloak her body in a nimbus of shimmering locks. The sword flashed, and faded from view, into a swirl of glimmering motes of moonlight. She was taller than any drow or surface elf he had ever seen- taller even than an orc or bugbear. Awed, the young drow gazed up at her lovely face, and suddenly fell to his knees, head bowed in reverence. He knew he was in the presence of a goddess. "You honor me, Lady," he said softly.

She knelt down on one knee, and reached out to lift his chin gently. "Did you think that you were alone?" She asked. "I am always with you. When you feel lost, or afraid, you need only call on me, and I will hear you, child." Her voice was soothing, and tears of happiness welled up to trickle down his cheeks. "Come, little one, and join me in the dance. Listen to the song of the Night Above- do you hear it?"

He nodded, gazing up into her serene face. Her eyes were the hue of perfect amethysts; they reminded him of Ravyn's, or Morganna's, if his sister had not been so cruel. "But I don't know your name," he protested, and frowned. "I don't even know _how_ to dance," he finished mournfully.

"It does not matter, my child- only what is in your heart is important. You need only follow it," she murmured gently, then leaned forward to kiss his forehead lightly. "But perhaps you are not yet ready. When that time comes, you will know. But now it is late, and you must leave soon. My name is Elistarrya, the Dark Maiden and Lady of the Dance. Remember it well, and call on me when you have need." She smiled, and rose, moving over to stand beside the stone. The white avian fluffed up, and fluttered up silently to land on her shoulder, its taloned feet clinging so gently that they did not even scratch her obsidian skin.

"What is that?" He asked, gazing up at the strange creature curiously. "Does it have a name?"

"He is my servant- an owl named Snowfeather. He likes you," she said with a chuckle, smiling.

Lothir rose, and held up one hand to stroke the owl. "He's very beautiful," he said wonderingly. After a long moment, he looked up at the goddess again, with a serious but hopeful expression. "I- I wish to serve you, my Lady," he said hesitantly. "If you wish it," he continued, "May I? What would you ask of me?"

"To serve me is an important decision, my child, and you are young," the goddess replied. "Are you certain you want this? I ask nothing but that you follow the ideals of faith in me. To act always with kindness and courtesy, spread music and joy, and to give aid to those in need. But you know this already- it has always been in your heart to do this. Yet think carefully before you pledge yourself to my service, for if others learn of it, you will be hunted, perhaps even killed for your faith. Are you willing to take such a risk?"

He looked down at the ground for a long time before answering. "As you said, Lady- I have always done so. Yes, I would gladly do as you ask. I pledge myself to you, _Jabbress_." He replied, kneeling with his head bowed. She laid her hand on his shoulder, smiling, and nodded.

"Very well, young one. As you wish." She raised her arm, and the silver sword appeared in her hand. She brought it down before her, and held it out. "Hold out your hand," she said solemnly, and he did so. Then she drew the blade across his palm, leaving a long, shallow cut. "By this are you bound to me, to serve as one of my faithful. Be true to the calling of your heart, and remember your oath, for by your own blood freely given is it made."

The young drow nodded, and let the ruby drops fall upon her blade and onto the ground. "As you will, Lady," he said, and stood up once more. "I will remember." Then she smiled again, and stepped back, before slowly fading out into sparkling moonbeams that soon disappeared. He stared at the two moons for a long time, then finally turned and began to caper back down the trail to the hole beneath the tree.

Some time later, he had finally returned home, and was quietly slipping up the stairs to his room when he felt something sharp poke him in the back of the neck. The young drow froze; then he heard a soft chuckle, and turned slowly to see who was behind him. His stomach sank when he saw the familiar swirl of black, silver-streaked hair and violet eyes. Morganna. He sighed, and glared at her, as she stood there grinning wickedly at him from the shadows of a guard post.

"Careless is dead, little worm," she sneered, casually flipping a dagger in one hand. She stepped out of the alcove, watching him with narrowed gaze, moving like a cat stalking its prey. He noted grimly that she had blood spattered on her cloak and tunic; no doubt, she had been down at the outpost practicing her fighting skills by slaughtering wild beasts brought into the cavern from the wilds, or perhaps even on the soldiers and scouts themselves. He was certain that the blood was not hers.

"What do you want, Morganna?" He asked warily. She rarely ever deigned to notice him unless it was to torment him, a habit she seemed to have picked up from his mother. She flashed him a wicked grin, her teeth showing white against her dusky grey lips. Her eyes glittered coldly, as she held the dagger pointed toward him, circling slowly like a shark.

"I know you've been keeping secrets, little brother," she hissed; she laughed softly when she saw the hint of worry in his eyes. "I do not know where you have been hiding, but even our Lady Consort is beginning to take notice of your frequent disappearances. Where do you go, I wonder? Shall I tell her you have been sneaking out somehow? Past the patrols, perhaps?" She teased, as if daring him to dispute her claim.

Lothir blew a lock of hair from his face, annoyed. She had played this game before, always pretending she knew more than she did. "Don't you have a goblin to torture somewhere?" He asked scornfully. "And just what if I have? What are you going to do about it? I can do as I please- I don't answer to _you_." He made certain she caught the slight emphasis on the last word, reminding her that she had no real place within the family.

The half-drow girl bristled, all pretense of civility suddenly gone. "You little-!" She began, but then paused, as though she could not think of a curse vile enough. "You may think you are special because you are the Heir, but one day Father will realize what a mistake he made in naming you his successor. And when he does, I will see to it that you fall. It should have been _me_!" She hissed, then turned and stormed away in a red haze of fury.

He stared after her until she had disappeared down the long spiral stair, then shook his head with a sigh, wondering how she could be so jealous of him, when in truth, he had nothing. For all the expectations of his family, he was treated little better than the slaves, and only his blood kept him from being shoved aside and forgotten, into the ranks of the common servants and soldiers of the House. Morganna was too blinded by her hatred to ever understand that she had far more freedom than he ever would. He finally trudged the rest of the way to his small room, with its bare walls and stark furnishings- so unlike those of the House priestesses, or even his father- and fell onto the bed, exhausted. His last thought before he fell asleep was that he was glad she had not noticed the bandage around his hand.

The following weeks passed quickly. Several times, he had gone back to the forest clearing on the surface, exploring the strange new world excitedly, always amazed by each new sight or smell or sound, yet he never saw the goddess again. He found himself saddened by that fact, wishing she would return, so that he could ask all the questions that seemed to continually bubble up as if from a never-ending fountain. Still, at least the owl had remained, for it was always there waiting when he climbed out of the hole onto the soft, earthy-smelling soil of the forest.

He had quickly discovered that the forest was set in a small valley, secluded and peaceful, with few creatures larger than Snowfeather himself. Occasionally, he would find tracks like those from the abandoned den, though he never saw the animals that made them. On several occasions, he heard distant howls that brought a chill to his spine, but whatever made the sounds never came close enough for him to see what it was, though he knew there must be at least half a dozen.

Strangest of all was the night he had come upon a large creature with four long, slender legs, a graceful arched neck, and a small, long head with large ears and a pair of large, curving, many-pronged horns. It had stared at him with huge dark eyes, flicking a tiny tail with a white underside as he watched it move slowly through the clearing toward the pool. It had tawny fur, and its tiny hoofed feet made it seem to almost glide across the clearing. The drow wondered what sort of creature it was, and whether it might be dangerous, until it began to graze quietly on the grass and flowers, reminding him of the placid rothe herd at home. He had sat by the stone near the pool, watching until it left the clearing, awed that a simple beast could be so beautiful.

He continued to explore the tunnels as well, until he was satisfied that he had memorized nearly all of them. Most were empty of anything more dangerous than a few shrieker fungi or the occasional rust monster or hook horror. Once he had found a small, deep hole that led into the lair of a beholder. He had wisely left it alone, for he knew well enough that beholders were some of the most dangerous and intelligent beings in the Underdark. Even the deep gorge he had discovered with a colony of grey oozes at the bottom was easily avoided, since it was narrow enough to jump across. He had been excited when he found a narrow tunnel that wound around to exit at a small, high ledge above a large cavern that connected to a tunnel whose walls and floor bore the marks of many years of traffic from riding lizards and booted feet. When he had followed the larger passage, he had discovered that it was part of the main trade route from his home to the various Underdark cities that dotted the deep caverns beneath Argonia.

That meant two things- first, that the secret warrens he had found were, in fact, part of the larger cave complex that his family knew, and second, that only their relative inaccessibility and the fact that the entrance was hidden behind a huge boulder had kept them from being discovered. Naturally, he set about doing what he could to insure that they would not be found. He liked having his own private domain in which to learn and practice his skills, and he enjoyed keeping the secret of their existence even more. Morganna thought he had been sneaking out through the outpost, and had begun watching it to try to catch him. It amused him immensely to know that she was watching the wrong place, and would probably never discover where he really went.

As time went by, he began to gain more skill, not only at swordplay, but his magic, as well. He had already learned several spells, though none was very powerful, or even particularly useful for more than amusement. Even his proficiency with the flute had greatly improved, to the point where he was able to produce several recognizable tunes, though he knew that he still needed improvement. Unfortunately, he still had not unlocked the magic in it, a fact which frustrated him more and more each time he tried.


End file.
